THE 


TIM  BUNKER  PAPERS, 


YANKEE   FARMING. 


BY 


TIMOTHY   BUNKER,  ESQ.,      C  [~ 


OF    HOOKERTOWN,    CONN. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    HOPPIN. 


NEW  YORK: 
ORANGE  JUDD  AND  COMPANY, 

245     BROADWAY. 


r  \ 


$5-2  I 

c  f 


Entered  ac^ordinc*  t<^vAct  o(  C,oi|gresiS,  in  th^'^jear  1868,  by 
OKA^GF.''j'l:<i;-p,ft.  CO.,  .• 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


LOVEJOY,  SON  &  Co., 

ELKCTROTYPERS  AND  STEREOTYPERS, 

15  Vande water  St.,  New  York. 


PREFACE. 


These  papers,  begun  in  the  interest  of  improved  hus 
bandry,  without  much  method,  and  without  any  anticipa 
tion  of  their  subsequent  popularity,  have  been  continued 
through  twelve  volumes  of  the  American  Agriculturist,  in 
deference  to  the  wishes  of  the  senior  editor  and  his  numer 
ous  readers,  rather  than  to  the  judgment  of  the  writer. 
For  the  same  reason  they  are  gathered  in  the  more  con 
venient  form  of  this  little  volume,  in  the  hope  that  they 
may  be  still  further  useful.  They  are  a  humble  attempt 
to  represent  the  average  wisdom  of  the  Connecticut  farmer, 
and  the  steady  progress  which  this  class  is  making  in  rural 
improvement  and  in  the  comforts  and  moralities  of  social 
life.  The  incidents  herein  recorded  are  fictitious  in  form 
rather  than  in  fact,  for  they  are  the  results  of  personal 
experience  and  observation,  and  are  meant  to  represent 
the  true  diift  of  farm  life  in  the  land  of  Steady  Habits. 
The  teachings  are  believed  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  best 
authorities  in  Agriculture  and  Horticulture,  and  with  the 
earnest  desire  that  they  may  cheer  the  workers  upon  the 
farm  everywhere,  and  incite  them  to  the  best  methods  of 
husbandry  and  the  noblest  aims  in  living,  they  are  sub 
mitted  to  the  public. 


O 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 


No.    1.— A  Stroke  of  Economy 7 

"      2. — Ornamental  Trees 9 

44      3.— Timothy  Bunker,  Esq 11 

"      4.— View  of  the  Bird  Law 14 

u      5.— Guano  in  the  Hill 18 

"      6.— On  Moss  Bunkers .19 

"      7.— On  Subsoiling 22 

44      8.— Going  to  the  Fair 24 

"      9.— In  Tall  Clover 25 

44    10.— On  Horse  Racing 27 

"    11.— At  the  Farmer's  Club 30 

"    12.— On  an  Old  Saw 35 

"    13. — Book  Farming  in  Hooker- 
town 37 

"    14.— Pasturing  Cattle  in  Roads.  40 

"    15.— The  Weaker  Brethren 42 

"    16.— Curing  a  Horse  Pond 44 

44    17.— Domesticities  at  Tim  Bun 
ker's 48 

44    18. — Takes  a  Journey, .. 52 

44    19.— On  Farm  Roads 56 

44    20.— A  New  Manure 57 

44    21.— Losing  the  Premium 60 

44    22.— A  New  Enterprise 63 

44    23.— Making  Tiles 66 

44    24.— The  Clergy  and  Farming. .  71 

44    25. — Women  Horse  Racing 75 

44    26.— Beginning  Life. .   79 

44    27. — An  Apology  for  Tim  Bun 
ker 83 

44    28.— On  County  Fairs 84 

44    29.— At  Home  again 88 

44    30.— On  Raising  Boys 92 

41    31.— On  Raising  Girls 95 

44    32.— A  new  Case  of  the  Black 

Art 99 

44    33.— A  Letter  from  Neighbors . .  103 
44    34.--The  Shadtown  Parsonage.. 104 

"    35.— Views  of  Dress 109 

44    36.— A  Rustic  Wedding 113 

44    37.— Saving  a  Sixpence 118 

44    38.— On  giving  Land  a  Start.. .  121 
"    39.—  "       "       Boys  a  Start....  125 

44    40.— A  Tile  in  the  Head 128 

44    41.— Jake  Prink  Sold 131 

44    42.— The    New   York    Central 

Park 135 

44    43.— On  Irrigation 139 

41    44.— Feeding  with  Oil  Meal. . .  .143 

6 


No.  45.— The  Farmers'  Club 147 

k'    46.— On  Bad  Water 152 

"    47.— Cattle  Disease 155 

«    48.— On  Seed 160 

4'    49.— On  Breastworks  in  War. . .  163 

44    50.— Lightning  Rods 166 

41    51.— Buying  a  Farm 170 

"    52.— Topdressing  and  Feeding 

Aftermath 174 

4t    53.— Painting  Buildings 178 

"    54.— The  Value  of  Muck 182 

"    55.— On  Family  Horses 186 

"    56.— The  Horn-ail 191 

44    57.— A  Commentary  on  Roots.. 194 
14    58.— Stealing  Fruit  and  Flowers.198 

44    59.— The  Cost  of  Pride 202 

44    60. — Swamps  turning  Indian...  .206 
44    61.— Tim  Bunker  in  his  Garden  .210 

"    62.*-On  Running  Astern 213 

44    63.— On  Extravagance 217 

"    64.— The  Farmer's  Old  Age 222 

44    65.— On  Sheep  Traps 226 

44    66.— Old  Style  Housekeeping. . .  230 
44    67.— On  Keeping  a  Wife  Com 
fortable 235 

44    68.— Starting  a  Sugar  Mill 239 

44    69.— Reasons  against  Tobacco.. 243 

44    70.— Trip  to  Washington 247 

44    71.— The  Sanitary  Commission.251 
4'    72— Raid    among   the    Pickle 

Patches 255 

44    73.— Raid    among   the    Pickle 

Patches 260 

44    74.— On  Striking  He 264 

44    75.— Visit  to  Titus  Oaks,  Esq.  .268 
44    76.— The     Pickle      Fever     in 

Hookertown 272 

"    77.— On    Curing   Pickles    and 

Eating  them 276 

44    78.— The  Cotton  Fever  and  Emi 
gration 280 

44    79.— The  Cotton  Fever  and  Emi 
gration 284 

44    80.— The  Food  Question 289 

14    81.— On  Jim  Crow 295 

41    82.— The  Eight-hour  Law 298 

44    83.— Base  Ball  Clubs 303 

"    84.— The  Rise  of  Real  Estate. . .307 


THE  TIM  BUNKER  PAPERS, 


No.  1.— A  STROKE  OF  ECONOMY. 


The  farm  is  a  good  school  of  economy  in  many  repecte. 
The  age  of  homespun  is  yet  fresh  in  the  memory  of  many 
of  the  living,  and  its  close  calculations  are  yet  visible  on 
many  a  homestead.  Time  was  less  valuable  in  that  age 
than  in  this,  and  money  far  less  valuable  now  than  then. 
But  multitudes  have  not  yet  waked  up  to  the  fact,  and 
often  spend  several  dollars'  worth  of  time  to  purchase 
what  is  not  worth  fifty  cents  at  the  market  price.  When 
every  proprietor's  time  is  worth  two  dollars  a  day  in  the 
legitimate  business  of  planning  and  directing  the  labor  on 
his  own  farm,  he  is  in  poor  business,  doing  work  which 
another  will  do  for  him  at  one-quarter  of  the  price. 

We  have  already  begun  to  divide  the  labor  of  the  farm, 
and  have  reaped  very  great  advantage  from  it,  and  this 
division  can  be  carried  to  a  still  greater  extent  with  profit. 
The  horse  and  the  cultivator  do  a  great  deal  of  work 
once  done  by  the  hoe  and  human  hands.  ISTo  wise  man 
will  use  the  latter  when  he  can  avail  himself  of  the  former. 
The  mowing  machine  is  doing  the  work  of  a  dozen  men 
every  fine  hay  day  of  July.  How  long  will  shrewd  cal 
culators  break  their  backs  over  the  old-fashioned  scythe  ? 
Is  it  not  about  time  to  upset  the  old  stumps,  and  put  pow 
der  into  the  rocks  that  have  been  plowed,  harrowed,  hoed, 
7 


8  THE    TIM    BUXKER    PAPERS. 

and  mowed  around,  for  six  generations  ?  They  have  had 
their  day,  like  other  dogs,  and  should  now  be  bidden  to 
"  get  out."  Labor  is  no  longer  the  only  or  the  cheapest 
equivalent  for  the  farmer's  wants.  The  question  ought  to 
be  asked,  how  can  this  or  that  want  of  the  farmer  be  met 
in  the  cheapest  way  ?  If  a  man  wants  information  in  re- 
gartj,  l  to  v  husbandry,  h§  can  get  the  best  thoughts  of  our 
best  CuKivatork0  at  :a  touch  cheaper  rate  in  the  columns  of 
our  agj^fclfctiral  journals^  than  by  visiting  his  neighbors 
to  a*sk  quesfkms^ and.  make,  observations. 

But  Tim  Bunker  never  thought  of  that.  He  has  not 
much  opinion  of  "  that  'ere  book  farming."  But  Tim  ob 
serves,  and  is  quick  at  calculating  an  idea  that  he  sees 
growing  right  out  of  the  sod.  "  Them  is  the  sort  of  ideas 
for  practical  farmers."  He  does  not  take  the  papers,  but 
Deacon  Smith,  across  the  way,  does,  and  offers  to  lend 
them,  but  Tim  is  so  wall-eyed  on  the  papers  that  he  never 
accepts  the  offer.  But  he  sees  the  Deacon's  strawberries, 
and  wonders  if  they  would  not  grow  in  his  soil.  He 
plants,  and  succeeds.  The  Deacon  sells  in  the  next  mar 
ket  town  at  twenty-five  cents  a  quart — quite  as  much  as 
he  used  to  get  for  a  bushel  of  apples.  Tim  thinks  his 
strawberries  look  as  good  as  the  Deacon's,  and  he  goes  to 
market  and  brings  home  the  cash.  "  In  fact,"  soliloquises 
Mr.  Bunker,  "  this  business  pays,  and  if  folks  will  buy  the 
strawberries  at  that  price,  I  may  as  well  raise  them." 
The  strawberry  patch  was  realized  last  year,  and  a  hand 
some  sum  of  money  with  it.  One  of  the  coldest  days  last 
week  Tim  drove  up  to  our  door,  after  a  long  ride,  which 
must  have  been  tedious  even  with  the  excitement  of  fine 
sleighing  and  the  music  of  the  bells.  Now,  thought  we, 
Bunker  has  certainly  come  to  invest  a  dollar  in  book- 
farming.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  had  heard  of  our  Lawton 
blackberries  through  the  Deacon,  and  had  come  down  to 
take  a  winter  view  of  the  brambles  and  to  find  out  where 
they  could  be  purchased.  We  were,  of  course,  glad  to  see 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  9 

Mr.  Bunker,  and  gave  him  a  dissertation  on  this  fruit,  re 
lating  our  experience  and  mode  of  culture,  and  giving  him 
the  necessary  directions  for  procuring  the  plants.  Had 
he  taken  the  American  Agriculturist,  he  would  have  found 
in  it  much  more  information  than  we  had  time  to  give  him, 
and  in  the  last  number  no  less  than  four  parties  advertis 
ing  the  plants  for  sale.  Mr.  Bunker's  account  stands  thus 
with  himself: 

TIMOTHY  BUKKER,  Dr. 

To  time  and  use  of  horse    -  $2.00 

By  information  in  February  Agriculturist,  Or.        10 

Balance     -  $1.90 

This  is  what  we  call  a.  bold  stroke  of  economy.  Yet 
this  account,  foolish  as  it  looks,  is  a  good  illustration  of 
what  is  going  on  in  many  of  the  farming  districts.  Intel 
ligent  men  will  give  two  dollars  to  save  ten  cents  in  paper 
and  type.  We  think  they  will  do  better  to  take  the 
papers,  and  buy  their  information  at  wholesale  price.  Our 
time,  however,  was  not  lost  with  Mr.  Bunker ;  for  this 
article  came  of  his  visit,  and  we  trust  it  will  touch  some 
of  our  readers  in  the  right  spot. — ED. 


.    2.— ORNAMENTAL    TREES. 


Tim  Bunker  says  he  would  give  one  hundred  dollars  in 
clean  cash  if  he  had  the  Deacon's  big  elm  tree  in  front  of 
his  house.  It  is  a  noble  elm,  planted  a  hundred  years  ago 
by  the  Deacon's  grandfather,  also  a  Deacon  in  the  same 
church,  when  the  sanctuary,  with  its  square  pews,  high 
galleries,  and  sounding-board,  was  the  type  of  all  orno- 


10  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

ment  tolerated  in  things  sacred  or  secular.  But  the  first 
Deacon  loved  shade  and  meditation,  if  he  failed  to  ap 
preciate  the  beautiful  in  trees,  and  so  planted  this  elm  and 
the  row  of  maples  that  adorn  the  street  leading  from  his 
house  to  the  meeting-house.  The  elm  now  is  a  very  ma 
jestic  object,  and  probably  no  one  passes  under  the  shadow 
of  its  wide-spreading  branches,  and  looks  up  into  its  leafy- 
arches  in  summer,  without  admiring  it  and  blessing  the 
memory  of  its  planter.  The  offer  of  so  conservative  a 
man  as  Mr.  Bunker,  is  a  good  indication  of  its  value. 
Even  he  would  shell  out  the  cash  if  he  could  rear  such  a 
noble  creation  in  a  day,  in  front  of  his  dwelling. 

A  good  many  of  his  neighbors  would  give  half  as  much 
for  such  an  elm,  but  for  some  strange  reason  neither  Mr. 
Bunker  nor  his  neighbors  plant  ornamental  trees,  though 
they  are  plenty  enough  in  the  forests,  and  the  nurseries 
have  them  in  great  variety  for  a  mere  trifle.  It  does  not 
occur  to  them  that  time  will  make  of  the  humblest  sapling 
as  lordly  a  tree  and  as  graceful  in  its  proportions  as  the 
big  elm. 

They  have  only  to  plant  it  in  good  soil,  and  guard  it 
against  injury,  and  nature  will  do  the  rest  without  com 
pensation.  Every  year  will  add  to  its  gracefulness,  and 
to  the  value  of  the  homestead  which  it  adorns.  The  time 
has  come  when  farmers  should  think  more  of  planting  or 
namental  trees  as  a  matter  of  economy.  They  can  be 
planted  at  the  roadside  with  little  disadvantage  to  the  ad 
jacent  land.  If  maples  are  planted,  they  will,  in  a  few 
years,  be  yielding  sugar.  If  elms,  they  will  soon  turn  a 
barren  and  uninteresting  road  into  a  graceful,  shaded 
avenue,  in  the  summer.  It  should  be  a  part  of  the  settled 
policy  of  every  farmer  to  adorn  all  the  roads  leading 
through  his  farm  in  this  manner.  If  he  continues  in 
possession,  these  trees  will  be  objects  of  interest  to 
make  his  home  attractive  as  long  as  he  lives.  If  he 
removes,  his  place  will  be  more  salable  to  any  reason- 


THE   TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS.  11 

able  purchaser.  We  are  sorry  to  make  this  latter  sup 
position,  but  the  truth  is  that  a  large  majority  of  all 
the  farmers  in  the  East  do  not  feel  settled  for  life. 
They  purpose,  if  they  can  ever  sell  their  farms  to  good  ad 
vantage,  to  look  up  a  new  home ;  and  this  feeling  of  un 
rest  is  the  bane  of  all  permanent  improvement  and  orna 
ment  on  the  farm.  We  heartily  wish  our  farming  popu 
lation,  at  least  the  middle-aged  portion  of  them,  could  feel 
settled.  They  would  then  plant  orchards  and  ornamental 
trees,  and  make  their  homes  attractive.  Let  the  good 
work  be  commenced  this  month. 


No.    3.— TIMOTHY    BUNKER,    ESQ. 


This  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  whose  name  has  re 
peatedly  appeared  in  our  pages,  has  elicited  so  much  in 
terest,  that  we  give  a  brief  sketch  of  his  career,  to  satisfy 
the  public  curiosity.  He  now  holds  the  office  of  Justice 
of  the  Peace,  though  he  was  so  late  in  arriving  at  this 
honor,  that  everybody  calls  him  Tim  Bunker,  just  as  they 
used  to.  He  himself  blushes  at  the  title,  and  perhaps  feels 
insulted  if  any  of  his  old  neighbors  call  him  anything 
else.  It  is  said,  however,  that  his  wife,  in  speaking  of  the 
husband  of  her  youth  to  third  persons,  does  sometimes 
give  him  the  honors,  but  she  is  very  careful  never  to  call 
him  Esq.  Bunker  in  his  presence. 

He  was  bom  and  bred  in  Connecticut,  and  is  a  product 
of  her  soil  and  institutions  so  unique,  that  it  were  impossible 
for  Tim  Bunker  to  have  grown  up  anywhere  else.  He 
would  have  been  quite  another  man.  He  lives  in  Hooker- 
town,  in  the  first  ecclesiastical  society,  and  all  his  ances- 


12  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

tors  for  five  generations  back  have  been  members  of  the 
church  of  the  standing  order  in  that  ancient  common 
wealth.  He  is  not  himself  a  member  of  the  church,  but 
his  orthodoxy  is  as  vigorous  and  sturdy  as  the  most  de 
vout  member  of  the  Puritan  church  where  he  worships. 
He  reveres  the  institutions  of  religion,  and  is  as  punctual 
at  the  meeting-house  on  the  Sabbath,  as  the  preacher  or 
the  sexton.  His  model  man  is  Deacon  Smith,  though  he 
follows  him  afar  oif,  both  in  horticulture  and  in  religion. 
He  is  as  zealous  as  the  Deacon  in  the  defence  of  the  spec 
ulative  doctrines  of  the  church,  and  is  quite  as  correct  in 
his  moral  deportment.  By  all  but  his  intimate  friends,  he 
is  supposed  to  be  a  member,  so  correct  is  he  in  his  opin 
ions  and  practices.  His  personal  appearance  is  somewhat 
striking.  He  is  just  about  medium  size,  square  built  and 
stout,  and  though  past  fifty,  can  keep  up  with  the  smart 
est  of  his  hands  in  the  field  at  any  kind  of  work.  He  has 
an  open,  manly  face,  expressive  of  benevolence,  and  his 
look  does  not  belie  his  character.  He  is  known  far  and 
near  as  an  excellent  neighbor,  always  ready  to  help  at  a 
bad  job,  to  change  work,  to  lend  his  horse  or  oxen,  even 
when  it  is  not  quite  convenient  for  himself.  In  dress  he  is 
always  behind  the  times.  The  Sunday  hat  has  been  his  for 
five  years,  and  neither  rim  nor  crown  has  changed  with 
the  changing  fashions.  His  dress  is  of  the  same  age,  and 
the  only  trouble  pertaining  to  dress  that  agitates  him,  is 
the  apprehension  that  his  habiliments  will  sometimes  wear 
out  in  spite  of  his  scrupulous  care.  A  change  of  suit  al 
ways  goes  hard  with  him,  and  it  requires  the  most  adroit 
management  of  his  good  wife  to  get  him  safely  out  of  the 
old  into  the  new.  He  has  been  in  a  condition  which  she 
calls  "  not  fit  to  be  seen  "  for  a  full  year,  before  she  can 
effect  a  change  of  Sunday  suit. 

In  politics  Tim  Bunker  was  a  whig  until  the  last  Presi 
dential  election,  since  which  time  parties  have  become  so 
much  split  up,  that  for  once  he  has  found  himself  entirely 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPE-KS.  13 

at  a  loss.  For  his  part  he  cannot  see  why  folks  want  to 
keep  changing  about  so,  every  few  years.  If  the  world 
ever  gets  finished  and  adjusted  to  a  given  position,  he  will 
be  a  supremely  happy  man. 

He  has  always  lived  upon  the  ancestral  farm,  and  by  a 
life  of  industry  has  succeeded  in  buying  out  the  other 
heirs,  and  now  owns  in  fee  simple  all  the  paternal  acres. 
He  is  a  good  sample  of  the  old  style  farmer,  shy  of  books 
and  papers  that  treat  of  husbandry,  and  a  frequent  quoter 
of  that  old  proverb  "  old  birds  are  not  to  be  caught  with 
chaff."  Tim,  however,  was  once  caught,  if  not  with  chaff, 
at  least  with  something  very  like  it. 

Some  five  and  twenty  years  ago,  there  was  a  Rohan  po 
tato  fever  that  infected  all  Hookertown.  Many  of  his 
neighbors  who  read  the  papers  experimented  with  the 
article,  and  among  the  rest  his  model  man  Deacon  Smith 
went  into  the  speculation.  Tim  Bunker  believed  in  practical 
farming,  and  as  these  potatoes  were  manifestly  a  reality, 
he  bought  of  the  Deacon  a  bushel  of  Rohans  for  ten  dol 
lars.  This  was  pretty  warm  in  the  mouth,  but  as  some  sold 
for  fifteen  the  same  season,  he  was  satisfied  with  his  bar 
gain.  It  was  the  last  year  of  the  speculation,  and  the  fall 
crop  was  dull  in  the  market,  at  a  dollar  a  bushel.  Tim 
Bunker  rubbed  his  eyes  with  both  his  fore-fingers,  when 
harvest  came,  and  declared  that  he  would  never  touch  an 
other  new  thing.  But  he  has  repented  of  that  now,  and 
adopted  quite  a  number  of  new  things  that  have  been 
tested  in  the  Deacon's  garden.  He  is  always  certain  to 
make  the  Deacon  pay  for  his  own  experiments,  and  only 
adopts  the  new  fruit  or  vegetable  when  he  is  certain  it 
will  pay.  He  has  lately  got  wind  of  the  Dioscorea  Bata 
tas.  His  neighbor  lent  him  the  nursery  pamphlet  in 
which  the  wonderful  productiveness  of  that  astonishing 
tuber  was  duly  set  forth.  Tim  digested  its  contents,  and 
when  he  returned  the  pamphlet,  very  dryly  inquired: 


14  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

"  Deacon,  does  not  this  make  you  think  of  the  Rohan  ?  " 
He  will  not  purchase  this  year. 

Conservative  as  he  is,  there  is  manifest  progress  with 
Mr.  Bunker,  and  a  real  improvement  is  sure  to  find  its 
way,  in  due  time,  to  his  farm.  The  debt  and  credit  ac 
count  of  his  adventure  in  pursuit  of  the  blackberry  plants 
as  he  read  it  in  the  Deacon's  Agriculturist,  struck  Tim 
full  in  the  face.  He  has  not  stopped  thinking  of  it  yet, 
and  we  hope  to  record  his  name,  before  a  great  while,  up 
on  our  list  of  subscribers. 

P.  S. — The  seed  has  borne  fruit.  We  received  the  fol 
lowing  letter  this  morning : 

HOOKERTOWX,  Coxx.,  April  15,  1856. 

DEAB  SIR  :  —  Inclosed  please  find  $1  for  the  Agricul 
turist  for  one  year.  TIMOTHY  BUNKER. 

O.  JUDD,  Esq.,  New  York  City. 


No.  4.— TIM    BUNKER'S    VIEW    OF    THE 
BIRD    LAW. 


Jeremiah  Sparrowgrass  left  Hookertown  for  the  com 
mercial  metropolis  at  the  tender  age  of  sixteen,  thinking 
that  his  salvation  would  be  effected  and  his  fortune  made 
forever,  if  he  could  find  a  situation  as  clerk  in  a  dry  good 
store.  He  found  in  the  city  the  object  of  his  lofty  ambi 
tion,  and,  after  a  little  roughing  it,  was  duly  installed  as 
errand  boy  and  professor  of  small  jobs  in  a  respectable 
establishment  on  Broadway.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one 
Jeremiah  is  a  clerk  with  a  salary  in  the  establishment 
where  he  commenced  his  mercantile  life  ;  a  youth  of  prom 
ise  in  the  esteem  of  his  friends,  and  not  slow  in  his  own 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  15 

estimation.  In  May  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  visit  his 
country  cousins  at  Hookertown,  and  to  regale  himself  a 
little  with  country  sports. 

Nothing  seemed  better  adapted  to  his  tastes  than  gun 
ning,  and  he  accordingly  brought  up  from  the  city  a  fowl 
ing  piece,  that  he  might  carry  out  his  deadly  intent.  He 
had  seen  certain  brave,  chivalrous  youths  returning  from 
the  Jerseys,  dressed  with  hunting  cap  and  coat,  and  orna 
mented  with  powder  flask,  shot-bag  and  game  pouch,  the 
very  pictures  of  genteel  recreation.  So  the  first  morning  after 
he  had  surprised  Hookertown  with  his  advent,  he  girded 
on  his  shooting  toggery  and  military  weaponry,  deter 
mined  to  make  the  birds  of  his  native  parish  smell  gunpow 
der,  and  bite  the  dust.  He  had  some  obscure  recollections 
that  there  was  a  prejudice  against  birds  among  the  farm 
ers  on  account  of  their  pulling  up  corn,  and  thought  he 
would  be  performing  a  very  good  deed,  as  well  as  exhibit 
ing  his  own  prowess,  by  destroying  them.  His  whole 
memory  of  country  life  had  become  exceedingly  impaired 
by  his  city  residence,  and  he  delighted  to  show  his  igno 
rance  by  asking  questions  upon  topics  that  he  was  thor 
oughly  instructed  in  when  a  boy  of  ten  on  the  farm. 

Passing  Deacon  Smith's  orchard,  Jeremiah  Sparrow- 
grass,  merchant  of  the  city  of  New  York,  spied  a  robin 
redbreast,  singing  away  right  merrily  with  his  bill  in  the 
air,  as  if  his  whole  soul  was  exhaling  in  the  melody.  Be 
neath,  in  a  fork  of  the  tree,  was  his  mate,  with  a  nest  full 
of  birdlings,  and  surely  a  happier  family  group  was  not  to 
be  found  anywhere  in  the  country.  Bang  went  the  gun 
of  Jeremiah  Sparrowgrass,  and  that  morning  song*  was 
ended.  It  was  owing  entirely  to  the  inexperience  of  the 
sportsman  that  a  husband  and  lover  was  not  also  ended, 
and  a  whole  brood  bereaved  of  their  natural  protector. 
The  report  of  the  gun  brought  out  Deacon  Smith  before 
the  heroic  Mr.  Sparrowgrass  had  time  to  reload  his  piece 
and  make  a  demonstration  on  the  mother,  who  was  flutter- 


16  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

mg  and  crying  in  a  state  of  great  apprehension  in  the  tree 
tops.  Jerry  knew  the  Deacon  as  well  as  any  boy  knows 
his  senior  in  a  country  church  that  he  has  always  attend 
ed,  but  this  morning  affected  ignorance,  both  of  the  Dea 
con  and  his  robins. 

"  My  dear  sir,  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  inform  me 
what  species  of  bird  this  is  ?  I  am  making  a  collection 
of  the  feathered  tribe  for  my  herbarium,  and  should  like 
to  add  this  specimen  to  my  list." 

"This  bird,"  replied  the  Deacon,  "is  known  as  the 
Condor  of  the  Andes,  the  same  kind  that  sometimes  car 
ries  off  calves." 

Jeremiah  Sparrowgrass,  merchant  of  New  York  City, 
did  not  stop  to  finish  loading  his  gun,  but  sloped  in  the 
most  expeditious  manner. 

He  crossed  the  road  and  struck  into  the  cow  pasture  of 
Tim  Bunker,  thinking  less,  probably,  of  his  herbarium  and 
scientific  attainments,  than  before  he  shot  at  the  robin. 
Here  he  found  birds  more  plenty  than  he  had  known 
them  in  his  boyhood.  A  statute  of  Connecticut,  enacted 
a  few  years  since,  which  prohibits  shooting  certain  vari 
eties  of  birds  on  another's  land,  under  a  heavy  penalty, 
proves  a  very  efficient  protection,  and  the  birds  have  mul 
tiplied  wherever  the  citizens  have  enforced  it.  Timothy 
Bunker,  Esq.,  being  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  arriving 
at  the  honor  somewhat  late  in  life,  had  zealously  enforced 
the  law  in  his  neighborhood,  not  only  to  maintain  the  dig 
nity  of  the  law,  but  to  protect  his  own  fields  against  the 
depredations  of  insects.  Though  a  very  conservative 
man,*he  could  see  the  benefits  of  the  law,  and  promptly 
warned  off  all  intruders  from  his  wood  and  swamp  pas 
tures,  where  the  birds  loved  to  congregate. 

Jeremiah  Sparrowgrass  was  first  saluted  by  a  bobolink 
from  the  stake  of  a  rail  fence : 

"Link,  link-ee,  wink,  wink-ee,  sweetch,  sweetch-ee-ee, 
wee,  wee-ee-ee-ee."  His  fire  brought  down  poor  Bob 


A  NEW  YORK   SPORTSMAN    IN    I1OOKERTOWN.  Page  16. 


/*  s  5 •*!*!••  *v*I*  •   •  •*•  '*"• 
*••»•*.•:•.•    i : ..:  .•••„  .»* 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  17 

O'Lincoln,  a  wounded,  dying  bird,  and  waked  up  Tim  Bun 
ker,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  adjoining  field  planting 
corn.  The  genteel  merchant,' in  pursuit  of  country  pleas 
ures,  was  just  bagging  his  game  when  Esq.  Bunker  came 
up.  Sparrowgrass  had  only  got  as  far  as  "  My  dear  sir, 
will  you  have  the  kindness,"  in  his  stereotyped  speech  of 
enquiry,  when  he  was  interrupted. 

"  Why,  Jerry,  is  this  you,  out  here  in  Hookertown  agin, 
killing  our  birds.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself, 
shooting  a  poor  skunk  blackbird.  What  harm  has  he 
ever  done  you  ?  His  song  is  a  little  crooked,  I  allow,  but 
cold  lead  is  not  the  stuff  to  straighten  it  with.  It  is  the 
same  song  the  Almighty  gin  him  to  sing,  and  he  has  as 
good  a  right  to  sing  it  as  you  have  to  measure  tape.  It 
is  a  most  inhuman  thing  to  kill  birds  when  they  are  laying 
their  eggs  and  hatching  their  young.  Besides,  Jerry, 
we've  got  a  law  agin  it,  and  all  good  citizens  ought  to 
obey  it.  The  birds  are  the  best  friends  the  farmers  have, 
and  we  have  learned  better  than  to  kill  the  crows,  as  we 
used  to  when  they  pulled  the  corn.  Now,  Jerry,  put  up 
your  shooting  iron  and  go  straight  home  to  widow  Spar- 
rowgrass's,  and  if  you  shoot  another  bird  in  these  parts 
I'll  have  you  fined  before  night." 

Mr.  Jeremiah  Sparrowgrass  withdrew  immediately,  be 
ing  particularly  disgusted  that  an  old  farmer  should  call  a 
Broadway  merchant  "Jerry,"  and  very  much  out  of 
humor  with  the  Connecticut  bird  law. 

The  statute,  however,  is  likely  to  stand  for  some  years 
to  come. — ED. 


18  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPEKS. 

No.  5.— GUANO  IN  THE  HILL  AND  NO  PAPER. 


"We  recently  met  a  man,  driving  fast,  with  a  very  long 
face.  He  was  in  pursuit  of  the  editor,  and  reining  up  his 
steed,  he  opened  his  complaint. 

"  I  heerd  tell  great  stories  about  the  dewings  of  that 
foreign  manure  in  your  paper.  Deacon  Smith  tried  it  and 
I  seed  the  account  of  it  in  Tim  Bunker's  papers.  So  I 
sent  down  to  York  this  spring  and  got  a  half  ton  of  gua 
no  and  put  it  on  to  my  corn.  I  was  detarmined  to  give 
it  a  fair  trial,  and  slap'd  a  hull  handful  into  every  hill.  I 
planted  it  more  than  three  weeks  ago,  and  it  aint  up  yet ; 
and  I  am  plaguy  'fraid  that  aint  the  worst  of  it.  Now  I 
want  to  know  what  is  the  matter  and  what  I  shall  dew." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  see  you  do  not  take  the  papers,  but 
only  borrow  Tim  Bunker's  paper  occasionally,  and  do  not 
half  read  that." 

"  True  as  gospel,  Mr.  Editor,  but  how  did  you  know 
that?" 

"  Know  it !  Why  your  story  convicts  you  of  not  tak 
ing  the  papers.  You  cannot  find  in  the  country  an  agri 
cultural  paper  so  poorly  edited  that  it  would  not  tell  you 
better  than  to  put  guano  into  the  hill,  especially  a  whole 
handful.  That  is  enough  to  rot  a  whole  handful  of  corn." 

"Dew  tell!!" 

"  Your  corn  will  never  see  the  light,  neighbor,  and  you 
must  plant  it  over  again." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"  You  should  have  sowed  your  guano  broadcast,  and 
plowed  it  in  immediately ;  then  it  would  have  been  diffused 
equally  in  the  soil,  and  would  have  given  you  a  good 
crop." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that." 

'*  You  ought  to  have  taken  the  papers.     In  this  opera- 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  19 

tion  you  see  you  have  lost  five  days'  work,  worth,  at  least, 
five  dollars,  and  it  is  now  so  late  that  your  corn  will  not 
be  nearly  as  good  as  it  would  have  been  planted  earlier. 
You  will  lose  at  least  five  dollars  on  every  acre  of  corn 
you  plant,  for  want  of  this  information  about  the  proper 
method  of  using  guano.  Five  dollars  in  loss  of  labor  and 
fifteen  in  loss  of  time  make  twenty  dollars,  which  would 
furnish  you  with  at  least  a  dozen  of  the  best  agricultural 
journals  in  the  country,  and  pay  the  postage  on  them." 

"  I  should  not  wonder  if  that  was  so." 

We  left  our  unfortunate  friend,  scratching  his  head,  now 
radiant  with  a  new  idea.  What  the  result  will  be,  of 
course,  we  cannot  tell.  But  we  expect  better  things  in  the 
future.  Hundreds  of  cases  like  this  are  to  be  found  all 
over  the  country.  Men  hear  of  guano,  and  take  it  for 
granted  it  is  of  no  consequence  how  they  use  it ;  they  put  it 
in  by  the  handful  and  plant  the  seed  directly  upon  it. 
Farmers  should  read  and  think  more.  It  is  very  expensive 
to  cultivate  the  soil  without  knowledge.  Take  the  pa 
pers. — ED. 


No.  6.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  MOSS  BUNKERS. 


Hookertown  has  been  thrown  into  quite  a  ferment  late 
ly,  by  the  arrival  of  numerous  loads  of  fish  from  the 
shore  for  the  purpose  of  manure.  The  muck  heaps  are  in 
a  ferment  with  the  fish,  and  the  people  with  the  talk  about 
them.  As  in  all  new  enterprizes,  there  is  a  great  differ 
ence  of  opinion,  and  almost  every  man  is  as  decided  in 
his  views  as  if  he  had  used  moss  bunkers  from  his  boy 
hood.  Some  declare  that  the  fish  cannot  be  used  without 
making  an  odor,  more  distinguished  than  all  the  spice 


20  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

groves  of  the  tropics,  and  that  the  man  ought  to  be  prose 
cuted  who  will  put  moss  bunkers  in  any  field  within  a 
mile  of  the  road.  Others  think  the  fish  are  good  for  noth 
ing  after  they  are  put  upon  the  land.  There  is  nothing 
like  the  good  old  stuif  right  out  of  the  barn-yard.  But 
the  majority  are  bound  to  try  the  article,  as  they  agreed 
last  winter  to  take,  some  fifty  thousand,  some  sixty,  and 
some  a  hundred  thousand.  They  live  too  far  from  the 
shore  to  apply  them  fresh  to  the  growing  crops,  and  they 
are  almost  without  exception  putting  them  into  heaps  and 
covering  them  with  peat  and  muck.  As  this  latter  article 
is  abundant,  they  use  five  or  six  cords  of  it  to  one  of  the 
fish.  Tim  Bunker  very  early  consulted  Deacon  Smith  and 
the  back  numbers  of  the  Agriculturist,  and  after  thinking 
the  whole  matter  over  a  few  days,  he  came  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  he  would  go  in  for  fifty  thousand  of  the  fish  and 
run  the  risk  of  it.  The  very  first  load  of  the  article  he 
brought  through  the  street  he  was  hailed  by  Mr.  Jotham 
Sparrowgrass,  the  uncle  of  Jeremiah  of  bird-killing  memo 
ry.  Jotham  was  wise  in  the  ways  of  his  fathers  and 
knew  all  about  the  fish,  for  he  had  lived  over  on  Long 
Island  when  he  was  a  boy. 

"  Well,  Squire  Bunker,  I  suppose  you  think  you  are  going 
to  do  a  nice  thing  with  them  'ere.  fish,  but  let  me  tell  you, 
you  don't  know  everything  if  you  do  take  the  papers. 
Fish  pizens  land.  I've  seen  it  tried  time  and  again,  and  I 
never  knew  it  to  fail." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Jotham  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  that  paper  is  filling  your  head  full 
of  foolish  notions.  When  I  was  a  boy,  my  father  and  all 
his  neighbors  used  to  use  fish ;  John  Woodhull,  Tom  Tut- 
tle,  Ben  Miller,  and  a  lot  more.  They  got  mighty  great 
crops  for  a  few  years,  and  then  the  land  got  to  be  so  poor 
that  fish  didn't  produce  no  more  eifect  upon  it  than  so 
much  sand.  They  came  to  the  conclusion  fish  pizened  the 
eile,  and  I  never  have  thought  much  of  fish  since." 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  21 

"  Well,  Jotham,  can  you  tell  me  if  they  used  anything 
else  besides  fish  for  manure  ?  " 

"  No,  they  didn't.  You  see  fish  was  so  plenty  in  Peconic 
Bay,  all  along  the  shores  of  Southold,  that  they  thought 
it  was  of  no  use  to  cart  dirt  into  their  yards." 

"  Well,  that  was  the  trouble  with  them,  Jotham,  and 
the  reason  that  the  land  run  to  sorrel  and  moss.  Deacon 
Smith  has  studied  into  this  matter  a  little  more  than  I 
have,  and  the  Deacon  says  that  if  we  only  use  muck  with 
fish,  or  if  we  turn  in  green  crops  occasionally,  the  land  will 
grow  better  all  the  while,  and  produce  great  crops.  He 
says  the  fish  stimulate  the  soil  to  produce  great  crops  of 
corn,  oats,  hay,  etc.,  and  immense  quantities  of  carbona 
ceous  matter  are  carried  off,  and  the  soil  is  soon  exhausted, 
unless  we  put  back  the  carbon  in  some  way." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  about  your  carbonates,  Tim 
Bunker,  and  the  other  stuff  you  and  the  Deacon  get  out 
of  the  papers.  I  tell  you  fish  will  pizen  the  land,  and 
Hookertown  will  be  a  desert  in  less  than  five  years  if  you 
keep  carting  these  stinking  fish  into  town." 

"  But  if  fish  spoil  the  land,  Uncle  Jotham,  why  do  they 
keep  using  them  on  the  Island?  One  town  over  there 
raised  twenty  thousand  bushels  of  wheat  and  corn  last 
year,  rye  and  oats  in  great  quantities,  and  it  was  just 
where  they  used  fish  in  greatest  abundance." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  on't.  That  wheat  crop,  you 
see,  was  growed  on  paper.  You  can't  raise  wheat  in  this 
part  of  the  country.  The  sile  is  too  old." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Jotham,  I  see  you  are  dead  set  agin  the 
fish,  but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  buy  them,  and  I 
think  I  shall  show  you  they  won't  spoil  the  land." 

Timothy  Bunker,  Esq.,  touched  up  his  span  and  ended 
the  conference  ;  while  Uncle  Jotham  struck  his  cane  upon 
the  ground  with  great  emphasis  and  tugged  off,  muttering 
as  he  went :  "  Who  would  have  thought  it !  Tim  Bunker 
using  bony  fish  !  It's  no  use ;  they  pizen  the  sile." — ED. 


THE   TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS. 

.  7.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  SUBSOILING. 


It  has  been  stirring  times  in  Hookertown  recently,  on 
account  of  the  advent  of  the  subsoil  plow.  Deacon  Smith 
had  one  last  spring,  and  if  Barnum's  elephant  had  come 
along  with  it,  the  team  would  not  have  made  half  the  talk 
the  plow  made.  Elephants  they  had  all  seen  or  heard  of 
at  the  menagerie  as  a  kind  of  monster  never  designed  to 
run  in  opposition  to  horses  or  any  other  farm  team.  But 
a  subsoil  plow  was  "  a  new  fangled  consarn  that  the  Dea 
con  was  gwine  to  poke  into  the  yaller  dirt  to  astonish  the 
natives."  It  was  entirely  contrary  to  all  well-established 
notions  in  this  venerable  community,  and  was  looked  upon 
as  an  intruder. 

The  Deacon's  barn-yard  was  a  scene  for  a  painter  when 
the  neighbors  dropped  in  to  examine  the  new  tool.  Tim 
Bunker  was  there  of  course,  and  Jotham  Sparrowgrass, 
Seth  Twiggs,  the  smoker,  John  Tinker,  and  Tom  Jones. 

Esquire  Bunker's  views  were  not  very  definite  as  to  the 
construction  of  the  plow,  and  he  wanted  to  know : 

"  Why,  Deacon,  where  is  the  mold-board  ?" 

"  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  screwed  on,"  responded  Mr. 
Twiggs,  half  inquiringly. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  call  that  ere  article  ?"  asked  Tom 
Jones. 

"  It  is  a  mighty  lean  looking  consarn,  ain't  it  ?"  says 
John  Tinker. 

"  And  I  guess  the  crops  it  will  make  will  be  leaner," 
chimed  in  Jotham  Sparrowgrass.  "  You  see,  Deacon,  I 
know  all  about  these  subsoilers.  They  tried  an  experi 
ment  when  I  was  a  boy,  over  on  the  Island.  You  know 
Ben  Miller  got  a  notion  in  his  head  that  the  fish  manure 
all  leached  down  into  the  sile,  and  that  was  the  reason 
why  we  did  not  get  any  better  crops  after  we  had  used 


A.  SUBSOIL   PLOW    INSPECTED. 


Page  22. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  23 

them  a  few  years.  So  he  took  his  old  plain  lot,  and  plowed 
two  -furrows  in  a  place,  and  turned  up  the  biggest  sight  of 
yaller  dirt  you  ever  laid  eyes  on.  It  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  so  many  acres  of  Scotch  snuff.  The  result  was 
that  he  planted  corn  there,  and  did  not  get  ten  bushels  to 
the  acre.  The  land  was  spilt,  and  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  to 
me  about  stirring  the  subsile." 

Argument  of  course  was  out  of  the  question,  and  the 
Deacon  showed  his  good  sense  by  leaving  the  plow  to 
speak  for  itself.  He  subsoiled  a  field  properly,  and  planted 
with  corn.  He  also  induced  Tim  Bunker  to  try  it  on  a 
patch  of  his  garden  where  he  was  purposing  to  plant  car 
rots  and  melons. 

The  month  of  July  brought  a  drouth  in  Hookertown. 
Uncle  Jotham's  garden  felt  it  severely,  and  he  had  plenty 
of  neighbors  to  sympathize  with  him  in  his  lamentations 
over  withered  vegetables. 

Tim  Bunker  called  him  into  his  garden  one  day  as  he 
was  passing. 

"  See  here,  I  want  you  to  look  at  my  carrots,  and  see 
how  green  they  are  where  I  used  the  Deacon's  subsoil 
plow.  They  are  growing  now  as  fast  as  if  they  had  a  plenty 
of  rain,  and  over  there  is  a  piece  in  John  Tinker's  garden 
that  looks  as  if  the  lightning  had  struck  it.  He  put  on  a 
good  deal  more  manure  than  I  did,  and  you  see  the  dif 
ference." 

"  Who  would  have  thought  it !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Jotham. 
"  I  guess  you  have  put  on  water." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Deacon's  garden  ?  It  is  all  as  green 
as  a  leek,  and  nobody  would  think  there  had  been  no  rain 
for  three  weeks.  You  see  there  is  no  getting  round  the 
facts,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  try  a  subsoil  plow 
this  fall.  It  must  be  a  great  thing  to  guard  crops  against 
drouth,  and  I  shall  try  on  the  piece  of  land  that  I  sow 
with  rye." 


24  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

Jotham  Sparrowgrass  was  much  less  voluble  than  usual 
during  the  call,  and  went  home  soliloquizing,  "  Wonder  if 
Tim  Bunker  did  water  them  carrots !" — ED. 


NO.  8.— TIM  BUNKER  GOING  TO  THE  FAIR. 


"  Dew  tell,  Squire  Bunker,  if  you're  gwine  to  exhibit  at 
the  County  Fair  this  Fall,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  lighted 
his  third  pipe,  and  took  his  hat.  "  I  never  was  tu  one  of 
them  Fairs  in  my  life,  but  I  have  heern  tell  of  the  big 
squashes  and  cabbage,  and  I  thought  you  would  be  after 
sending  up  some  of  your  garden  sass,  it  is  so  mighty  nice." 
Seth  had  kept  an  eye  on  the  subsoil  plow  after  he  found  it 
had  no  mold-board,  and  occasionally  looked  into  the  Dea 
con's  garden,  as  well  as  into  Squire  Bunker's. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  I  did,"  replied  Tim  Bunker.  "  You 
see,  I  went  up  last  year  for  the  first  time,  not  thinking  it 
was  worth  while  to  take  up  anything  to  show.  But  I 
found  when  I  got  there  that  Hookertown  was  making 
as  good  a  show  as  any  other  town  in  the  county,  and  there 
were  some  things  there  that  took  premiums  that  I  could 
have  beaten,  even  before  my  garden  had  the  subsoil  plow 
in  it.  Wife  planted  a  squash  at  the  edge  of  the  carrot  bed, 
and  the  vine  has  a  half  dozen  whoppers  on  it.  The  big 
one  there  will  weigh  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  she 
declares  '  that  squash  must  be  seen.'  Then  John  has  a  bed 
of  onions,  some  of  them  measuring  six  inches  across ;  and 
some  California  potatoes  weighing  two  pounds  apiece. 
Our  Sally  is  tip-top  on  bread-making,  and  says  she  is 
bound  to  take  a  premium,  for  the  ministers  are  to  be  the 
judges,  and  will  give  a  righteous  award.  The  bees  have 


TAKING    IN    SQUASIIES. 


Page  25. 


THE    TIM    BUNKEE    PAPERS.  25 

done  well  this  year,  and  whiter  honey  never  was  seen  than 
we  have  in  our  boxes.  The  carrots  of  the  subsoiled  land 
of  course  must  go  up.  I  measured  one  the  other  day 
twenty  and  one-half  inches  long,  and  I  think  I  can  find  a 
bushel  of  the  same  length  and  size.  Yes,  Sir,  Mr.  Twiggs, 
we  shall  all  go  up  to  the  Fair  to-morrow  morning." — ED. 


NO.  9.— TIM  BUNKER  IN  TALL  CLOVER. 


THE  FAIR,  AND  HOW  HE  TOOK  THE  PRIZES. 

"  Taking  in  your  squashes  then,  this  morning,  Esq.  Bun 
ker,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  looked  over  the  garden  fence, 
and  saw  Tim  very  busy.  The  smoke  curled  up  from  his 
pipe,  and  both  hands  were  thrust  into  his  waistcoat  pockets, 
as  he  stood  with  his  weight  poised  upon  one  leg,  and  both 
ears  opened. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  is  it,  Seth,"  said  Tim,  as  he  deposited  the 
last  squash  in  the  basket.  Did  you  hear  how  I  came  off 
at  the  fair  yesterday  ?" 

"  Not  exactly.  I  kind  o'  thought  it  wouldn't  be  strange 
if  them  carrots  of  you'rn  got  a  premium." 

"  Carrots,  man !  why  I  made  a  clean  sweep,  and  got  a 
premium  on  everything  I  carried.  Had  the  grandest  time 
I  and  my  family  ever  experienced.  You  ought  to  have 
been  there,  Mr.  Twiggs,  to  see  Hookertown  in  its  glory. 
First,  you  see,  our  town  train  was  made  up  of  seventy-one 
yoke  of  oxen,  besides  Jim  Latham's  steer  train  of  five  yoke, 
which  the  Committee  said  would  not  count.  This  was 
bigger  than  anything  upon  the  ground,  and  took  a  prize. 
Then  Deacon  Smith's  fat  pair  of  cattle,  that  weighed  five 
thousand  pounds  upon  the  hoof,  could  not  be  beat.  He 


26  THE  TIM  BUNKER  PAPERS. 

also  had  some  South  Down  wethers  that  weighed  near 
two  hundred  apiece,  and  were  said  to  be  the  finest  fat 
sheep  ever  exhibited  in  the  State. 

"  But  I  was  going  to  tell  you  how  our  folks  came  out. 
You  see  Mrs.  Bunker's  big  squash,  that  grew  there  in  the 
carrot  bed,  beat  everything  in  the  vegetable  line  for  size. 
There  was  a  fellow  up  from  Shadtown,  on  the  river,  that 
tho't  he  was  some  punkins.  But,  la  suz,  Seth,  his  squash 
could  not  hold  a  candle  to  ours,  by  sixty  weight.  He  said 
he  manured  with  fish,  and  calculated  he  should  make  a 
clear  sweep  on  the  vegetables,  squashes  in  particular.  The 
fellow  got  a  premium  on  potatoes,  which  seemed  to  com 
fort  him  some." 

"  Whurra  for  our  side !"  exclaimed  Seth,  swinging  his 
beaver. 

"  But  I  hain't  done  with  the  women  yet.  You  see  our 
Sally  made  up  a  batch  of  bread  out  of  the  new  wheat  that 
I  raised  on  Stone  Hill.  It  was  ground  over  to  the  city,  so 
that  the  whole  stuff  was  Connecticut  manufacture,  from 
top  to  bottom, — wheat,  flour,  yeast,  and  the  girl  that  made 
it.  And  who'd  'a  thought,  Seth,  that  same  loaf  of  bread 
took  the  premium." 

"Didn't  the  gal  blush  when  it  was  read  off?"  inquired 
Seth. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  did ;  but  whether  it  was 
about  the  bread,  or  one  of  the  ministers  that  was  on  the 
Committee,  I  couldn't  say.  They  do  say  that  the  young 
man  they  have  just  settled  in  Shadtown,  is  mighty  fond  of 
exchanging  with  our  man,  and  that  Sally's  singing  is  very 
much  to  his  mind.  But  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
premium,  for  it  never  got  round  that  the  bread  was  made 
of  Connecticut  flour,  until  after  the  premiums  were  read 
off.  Then,  you  see,  I  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  and  told 
them  that  No.  5  was  made  out  of  our  home-made  flour  by 
our  Sally. 

u  John's  onions,  too,  came  out  just  as  they  were  labeled, 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  27 

No.  1,  and  the  boy  has  got  the  money  for  them  in  his 
pocket.  His  Bremen  geese  were  the  largest  exhibited,  and 
the  white  Dorkings  could  not  be  beat.  You  know  our 
Suffolk  pigs ;  I  had  them  all  washed  up  the  day  before 
the  fair,  and  they  were  clean  enough  to  go  into  the  pork 
barrel  all  alive.  They  were  the  best  lot  exhibited. 

"  There  was  a  good  deal  of  competition  on  the  vege 
tables.  One  man  brought  a  hundred  varieties,  and  an 
other  ninety-one.  My  carrots  were  hard  run,  and  the 
Committee  declared  that  they  were  a  good  deal  bothered 
to  know  how  to  decide,  and  I  guess  they  were  so.  But 
you  see  my  star  was  in  the  heavens  that  day,  and  my  car 
rots  took  the  prize.  That  is  what  I  call  doing  pretty  well. 
But  it  isn't  a  circumstance  to  what  I  shall  do  next  year. 
I'm  bound  to  lay  myself  out  at  the  next  fair." 


NO.  10.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  HORSE-RACING. 


Our  cut  illustrating  an  "  Orthodox  Agricultural  Exhibi 
tion  in  1856,"  appears  to  have  touched  the  right  cord.  We 
are  glad  to  learn  that  it  has  met  with  such  favor  among 
our  orthodox  subscribers  in  Hookertown  and  vicinity. 
We  give  Mr.  Bunker's  letter  entire. 

HOOKERTOWN,  Nov.  12,  1856. 
To  the  Editor  of  the  American  Agriculturist. 

I  am  not  much  used  to  writing  letters  of  any  kind,  much 
less  letters  for  the  papers.  But  I  see  you  are  reporting 
considerable  many  of  my  sayings  in  your  paper,  and  I 
thought  if  you  were  bent  upon  having  my  notions  circu 
lated,  you  might  as  well  have  them  direct  from  the  foun 
tain  head,  as  to  have  them  come  in  a  round-about  way.  I 

2 


28  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS, 

just  want  to  eay  that  there  is  nothing  come  out  lately  that 
has  struck  the  fancy  of  the  Hookertown  people  like  that 
cut  of  the  horse-race,  in  the  last  paper.  At  first  I  did  not 
know  but  you  was  coming  out  in  favor  of  these  fast  colts 
and  "  whurra  boys  "  at  our  fairs,  and  I  begun  to  think  that 
I  should  have  to  drop  the  paper,  if  that  was  the  case.  You 
see,  horse-racing  is  an  institution  agin  which  Connecticut 
people  are  dead  set  upon  principle,  and  it  is  no  kind  of  use 
to  attempt  to  revive  that  old  engine  of  the  enemy  in  this 
enlightened  age,  even  under  the  cover  of  an  agricultural 
fair. 

We  have  got  a  great  notion  of  the  County  and  State 
Societies,  and  of  the  Fairs  that  come  off  every  fall.  They 
please  our  vanity  somewhat,  and  are  doing  a  heap  of  good, 
in  waking  folks  up  to  a  better  kind  of  farming.  All  sorts 
of  folks  come  to  them,  and  the  better  part  of  the  community 
especially.  It  seems  as  if  we  had  got  one  thing  that  we 
could  all  be  agreed  on.  There  is  a  considerable  split  on 
religion,  and  politics  always  stirs  up  a  deal  of  bad  feeling, 
especially  such  an  exciting  election  as  this  we  have  just 
had.  Now  it  seems  to  me  that  these  fairs  are  just  what 
we  want  to  draw  all  kinds  of  people  together,  and  to  keep 
up  good  neighborhood.  But  just  as  soon  as  you  bring  in 
horse-racing,  and  make  that  a  part  of  the  fair,  you  see,  a 
multitude  of  people  wont  stand  it  nohow.  It  does  seem 
as  if  the  devil  was  always  around  when  folks  are  trying  to 
start  a  good  enterprise,  getting  up  something  to  knock  it 
all  over.  You  see,  we  have  put  down  circuses,  theatricals, 
etc.,  time  and  agin,  and  we  don't  believe  in  horse-racing 
as  a  moral  institution,  fix  it  up  any  way  you  will.  Deacon 
Smith,  you  see,  is  a  rural  improver,  goes  in  for  good 
horses,  fine  cattle,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He  went 
down  to  Boston  to  attend  the  horse  show,  supposing  they 
were  going  to  have  a  civil  kind  of  time.  Guess  how  mor 
tified  he  was,  when  he  got  into  the  show  and  found  jockeys, 
gamblers,  and  betting  men  around  him,  thick  as  flies  in 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  29 

Hookertown  in  fish  time.  You  see  the  Deacon  will  not 
be  caught  in  such  a  scrape  agin. 

Now  I  don't  suppose  there  is  any  objection  to  having  a 
track  upon  the  fair  grounds,  and  to  driving  horses  around 
on  a  pretty  good  jog,  but  I  can't  see  how  it  is  going  to 
make  us  breed  any  better  horses  to  have  a  regular  racing 
match,  and  to  have  all  the  gamblers  and  fancy  men  in  the 
country  drawn  together  to  see  the  sport.  It  strikes  me 
that  gamblers  would  be  made  much  faster  than  good 
horses  by  such  brutal  exhibitions. 

Just  to  show  you  how  the  thing  works,  I  will  tell  you 
about  my  John.  You  see  the  boy  has  been  at  work  hard 
all  summer,  and  I  thought  I  would  let  him  go  down  to 
Boston  with  the  Deacon,  to  see  the  fine  horses.  When 
the  boy  came  home,  I  found  he  had  been  making  a  bet  on 
Ethan  Allen,  and  was  cracking  about  the  horse  as  raging 
as  an  old  gamester.  You  see  the  boy  was  young,  and  his 
father  was  not  with  him.  It  won't  be  safe  for  a  man  to 
take  his  family  to  the  fairs,  if  they  are  going  to  be  turned 
into  race-courses.  Good  people  will  be  dead  set  agin  them, 
and  the  first  thing  we  shall  know,  all  the  pulpits  in  Con 
necticut  will  be  blowing  away  at  the  fairs  for  horse-racing 
and  gambling.  Now,  you  see,  I  don't  belong  to  the  meet 
ing  myself,  and  am  not  so  good  as  I  ought  to  be,  but  I  can 
see  the  bearing  of  horse-racing  on  the  morals  of  the  com 
munity.  When  a  man's  boy  gets  to  betting  at  a  fair,  you 
see,  it  brings  the  matter  straight  home,  and  there  is  no 
blinding  a  man's  eyes  to  the  facts  in  the  case.  If  the  min 
isters  come  out  agin  this  kind  of  agricultural  exhibitions, 
they  will  have  the  right  on  their  side  and  will  be  certain 
to  carry  the  day.  It  is  no  kind  of  use  to  approve  a  thing 
that  is  not  right.  So  you  see  I  was  mighty  glad  to  see 
that  picture  in  your  paper  showing  up  the  folly  of  horse- 
racing  at  the  fairs.  Mrs.  Bunker  put  on  her  spectacles,  and 
looked  at  it,  and  wanted  to  know  of  John  if  that  looked 
anything  like  the  Boston  show.  John  rather  blushed,  and 


30  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

said  "  the  thing  was  natural  as  life."  I  have  had  a  dozen 
people  in  to  borrow  the  paper,  and  Seth  Twiggs,  Bill  Bot 
tom,  and  Jake  Frink,  want  to  take  it.  I  inclose  three  dol 
lars — Send  them  "  A  Bakers  Dozen." 

Yours  Agin  Horse-Racing, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER  Esq. 


NO.  11.— TIM  BUNKER  AT  THE  FARMERS'  CLUB. 


HIS  VIEW  ON  CHINA  POTATO  AND  MIXED  PAPERS. 

Hookertown  has  at  length  a  Farmers'  Club.  It  was 
organized  just  after  Thanksgiving,  and  may  be  regarded 
as  one  of  the  permanent  institutions  of  that  happy  people. 
The  farmers  in  the  land  of  steady  habits  are  proverbially 
cautious,  and  not  carried  about  by  every  "  wind  of  doc 
trine,"  whether  in  husbandry  or  in  religion.  But  when 
a  thing  is  done,  it  is  generally  well  done,  and  will  last 
until  there  is  good  reason  for  doing  it  away.  The  thing 
had  been  talked  of  by  Deacon  Smith  and  the  minister, 
Rev.  Jacob  Spooner,  for  at  least  a  year  beforehand.  They 
both  agreed  it  would  be  a  good  thing  in  every  point  of 
view,  if  the  people  could  only  be  brought  to  attend  it. 
But  there  were  so  few  agricultural  papers  taken  in  the 
place,  that  they  doubted  whether  there  was  interest 
enough  felt  in  the  matter  to  sustain  weekly  meetings. 
So  they  let  the  matter  rest  until  a  Club  should  seem  to  be 
called  for  by  public  sentiment. 

Rev.  Jacob  Spooner,  the  able  and  efficient  pastor  of 
Hookertown,  is  somewhat  past  his  prime,  though  one 
might  easily  take  him  for  a  man  ten  years  younger  than 
he  is.  For  forty  years  he  has  held  his  office,  and  molded 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  81 

public  sentiment  upon  all  secular  topics,  as  well  as  upon 
religion.  He  is  a  good  sample  of  a  Puritan  pastor  of  the 
present  generation.  He  is  regarded  as  timid  by  many  of 
his  juniors  in  the  ministry,  and  altogether  too  cautious  in 
the  positions  he  takes  in  regard  to  the  novelties  of  the  day. 
But  this  reserve  is  the  result  of  experience  and  age.  He 
has  seen  the  breakers,  and  knows  more  of  the  perils  of  a 
minister's  life  than  his  younger  brethren.  He  is  undoubt 
edly  conservative,  but  not  from  any  lack  of  moral  courage. 
He  has  sometimes  gone  before  public  opinion  in  his  parish, 
and  knows  something  of  the  difficulties  of  bringing  over  a 
community  to  new  opinions  and  customs.  He  always 
means  to  move  in  the  right  direction  himself,  and  in  his 
later  years  has  thought  it  best,  on  the  whole,  to  work  in 
private  for  any  new  measure  on  which  he  had  set  his  heart, 
before  he  committed  himself  to  it  in  public.  His  shadow 
fills  the  place  pretty  well,  and  he  is  sometimes  a  little 
afraid  of  it,  but  nobody  ever  knew  him  to  hold  back  from 
a  thing  that  was  really  good  and  praiseworthy.  When 
public  sentiment  is  prepared  by  his  "  in-door  work,"  as  he 
calls  it,  the  measure  is  pushed  with  a  good  deal  of  vigor. 

A  Farmers'  Club  in  Hookertown  was  a  fixed  fact  in  this 
man's  mind  a  year  ago,  and  the  delay  was  only  a  wise 
way  of  making  haste  slowly.  He  wanted  to  say  the  right 
thing  to  Timothy  Bunker,  Esq.,  and  his  wife  Sally,  in  his 
pastoral  visits,  and  speak  of  the  Club  as  a  thing  likely  to 
turn  up  another  season,  if  the  farmers  would  take  hold  of 
it.  He  also  had  a  few  words  to  say  to  Seth  Twiggs,  John 
Tinker,  and  Tom  Jones,  and  their  neighbors,  which  would 
prove  as  good  seed  in  good  soil  for  his  purposes. 

These  private  talks  of  the  minister,  together  with  the 
fairs  and  the  agricultural  papers,  had  stirred  up  a  good 
deal  of  interest  in  the  community,  so  that  everybody  was 
prepared  to  see  the  notice  stuck  up  on  the  sign  post  in 
Hookertown,  in  front  of  the  meeting-house,  that  the  farm 
ers  and  cultivators  would  hold  a  Club  meeting  at  the 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

school-house,  on  the  first  Tuesday  evening  in  December. 
The  subject  announced  for  discussion  was  the  "  Dioscorea 
Batatas,  or  Chinese  Potato." 

The  appointed  evening  came,  and  the  school-house,  when 
the  orthodox  hour  of  early  candle-light  appeared,  revealed 
some  five  and  twenty  of  the  farmers,  mechanics,  and  pro 
fessional  men  of  the  town. 

Deacon  Smith  was  appointed  Chairman,  and  as  the  pro. 
ceedings  were  not  designed  for  the  public,  it  was  concluded 
to  forego  the  usual  ceremony  of  appointing  a  clerk.  The 
Chairman  laid  the  subject  for  discussion  before  the  meet 
ing,  and  called  upon  gentlemen  for  their  views  of  the  dis 
tinguished  stranger. 

He  said  the  topic  had  excited  considerable  interest 
among  cultivators,  and  a  good  deal  had  been  said  about  it 
in  the  papers.  A  nurseryman  of  distinction  had  claimed 
for  it  remarkable  virtues,  and  had  threatened  to  drive  out 
all  known  esculents  with  it  from  the  country.  Great  pains 
had  been  taken  to  disseminate  the  tubers,  and  he  had 
learned  that  some  of  the  tin  boxes  were  imported  into 
Hookertown  last  spring.  He  had  understood  that  gentle 
man  would  be  present  this  evening,  who  would  relate  his 
experience.  The  meeting  was  open  for  remarks. 

Judge  Bronson  said  he  supposed  the  allusion  to  the  tin 
boxes  probably  meant  him,  and  he  had  to  confess  that  he 
parted  company  with  an  "X"  last  April  for  one  of  those 
articles.  The  contents,  he  said,  were  sand,  and  a  dozen 
black  looking  articles,  a  little  bigger  than  pepper-corns, 
that  looked  about  as  likely  to  sprout  as  so  many  crumbs 
of  Indian  bread.  He  said  his  faith  leaned  hard  upon  a 
pamphlet  containing  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  tuber 
and  a  glowing  description  of  its  virtues  and  productiveness. 
He  thought  it  was  worth  trying,  and  had  tried  it  quite  as 
thoroughly  as  any  case  he  had  ever  tried  in  Court,  and  by 
ordinary  rules  of  evidence,  he  was  constrained  to  pronounce 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  33 

the  claims  put  forth  a  great  humbug,  whatever  might  be 
said  of  the  tuber  itself. 

Rev.  Mr.  Slocum,  of  Shadtown,  next  addressed  the  meet 
ing.  This  gentleman's  exchanges  with  the  Hookertown 
minister  have  been  more  frequent  of  late,  and  as  he  always 
stops  at  Esquire  Bunker's,  it  is  mistrusted  that  something 
beside  the  Farmers'  Club  made  him  stay  over  to  attend 
this  meeting.  Perhaps  Sally  Bunker  knows  about  that ; 
your  Reporter  does  not.  He  said  that  he  had  received  one 
of  the  pamphlets  which  Judge  Bronson  had  mentioned, 
and  from  what  he  could  learn  at  the  ministers'  meetings, 
the  work  was  pretty  extensively  distributed  among  the 
clergy  last  winter.  Whether  the  operators  in  tubers  thought 
that  an  unusual  share  of  the  green  ones  was  to  be  found 
among  the  clergy,  he  could  not  say.  Probably  that  view 
of  their  character  had  something  to  do  with  the  liberal 
share  of  pamphlets  bestowed  upon  them.  He  was  happy 
to  state,  however,  that  very  few  of  his  brethren  had  been 
caught  in  the  trap,  and  those  who  had  fooled  away  their 
ten  dollars  were  best  able  to  bear  it.  Gentlemen  who  had 
tried  the  new  yam  in  his  parish  were  disappointed  with  its 
performance,  and  thought  it  a  swindle. 

This  brought  up  old  Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  the  distin 
guished  uncle  of  Jeremiah,  the  Broadway  clerk,  who  made 
such  a  figure  shooting  robins  and  bobolinks  last  summer, 
in  Tim  Bunker's  cow  pasture,  as  the  readers  of  the  Agri 
culturist  will  remember.  Jotham  had  grown  envious  of 
Esquire  Bunker's  recent  improvements  and  notoriety,  and 
also  of  his  neighbors,  and  though  he  was  always  running 
out  against  book-farming  and  new-fangled  notions,  he  de 
termined  that  for  once  he  would  steal  a  march  upon  them, 
and  astonish  the  natives  with  potatoes  a  yard  long.  As 
soon  as  he  saw  the  notices  of  the  Dioscorea  in  certain  lead 
ing  political  papers,  he  determined  upon  a  venture,  and 
ordered  a  dozen  through  his  nephew,  Jeremiah  Sparrow- 
grass — him  of  New  York  City. 
2* 


34  THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPERS. 

*  "  Swindle !"  echoed  Uncle  Jotham,  as  he  rose  and  struck 
his  cane  upon  the  floor,  "  there  has  not  been  such  a  piece 
of  rascality  afloat  since  the  Multicaulus  fever.  I  got  caught 
then  with  a  Chinaman,  and  vowed  I  never  would  have  any 
thing  more  to  do  with  book-farming.  But  those  stories  in 
my  New  York  paper  looked  so  mighty  plausible,  that  I 
was  taken  in  agin.  You  see,  if  they  had  been  in  an  agri 
cultural  paper,  I  wouldn't  've  read  'em.  But  coming  in  a 
political  paper,  I  thought  they  were  all  right.  But  I  have 
now  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  a  mighty  difference 
between  potatoes  and  politics.  A  man  sound  in  politics 
may  be  a  blind  guide  in  vegetables.  Why,  them  things 
cost  me  nearly  a  dollar  apiece,  they  did  not  half  come  up, 
and  what  did  come  up  might  as  well  have  staid  down, 
they  were  such  thin,  stringy,  consarns.  Potatoes  a  yard 
long,  and  a  rod  of  ground  supporting  a  family ! !  Why, 
at  the  rate  mine  yielded,  it  would  take  an  acre  of  'em  to 
support  a  pig,  and  if  the  one  our  folks  cooked  was  a  fair 
sample,  the  pigs  might  have  'em  in  welcome." 

Tim  Bunker,  Esq.,  here  got  the  floor,  and,  with  a  side 
glance  at  Jotham,  said :  "  It  would  be  well  if  cultivators 
who  were  going  into  new  things  would  take  a  reliable 
agricultural  paper,  published  by  men  who  understand  the 
business,  and  have  access  to  the  best  sources  of  information 
in  regard  to  the  novelties  that  come  out.  He  was  not 
caught  in  this  humbug,  thanks  to  the  American  Agricul 
turist,  which  gave  timely  warning  to  all  its  readers  last 
winter.  The  fact  is,  there  is  too  much  of  a  disposition  to 
mix  up  things  in  the  papers.  I  think  a  political  paper  bet 
ter  stick  to  politics  and  news,  and  a  religious  paper  stick  to 
religion  and  missions,  and  when  we  have  a  farmers'  paper, 
let  the  editor  stick  to  his  text,  and  not  hash  up  potatoes 
with  love  stories.  I  don't  mean  to  reflect  upon  any  rural 
paper  in  particular.  For  my  part,  I  want  a  simple  diet  in 
my  paper  as  well  as  upon  my  table.  Then  I  know  pretty 
much  what  I  have  got  before  me,  and  it  is  all  plain  sailing. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  35 

But  you  see  this  China  potato  first  got  a  going  in  a  political 
paper,  and  folks  swallowed  it  whole  as  if  it  was  all  accord 
ing  to  Gunter.  But  you  see,  the  fellow  that  wrote  about 
it  was  a  cute  chap,  cyphering  up  a  good  speculation  for 
himself,  instead  of  calculating  for  the  good  of  the  public. 
The  fellow  promised  too  much  by  half.  If  he  had  only 
said  he  had  got  a  good  thing,  and  wanted  folks  to  try  it, 
it  would  have  looked  more  reasonable.  But  when  he  came 
to  talk  about  its  feeding  all  China,  and  that  it  was  soon 
going  to  feed  all  America,  it  was  going  a  leetle  too  far. 
The  funniest  part  of  the  whole  story  was,  that  he  expected 
ministers  were  such  greenhorns  as  to  believe  the  whole  of 
it,  just  as  if  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity  had  never  been 
heard  of  in  Connecticut.  I  doubt  whether  he  goes  to  meet 
ing  much.  The  only  safe  way  for  us  to  avoid  humbugs  is 
to  take  a  good  agricultural  paper,  and  keep  up  with  the 
times." 

Meeting  adjourned. 


NO.  12.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  AN  OLD  SAW. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — You  need  not  think  that  any  of  my  neigh 
bors  have  grown  envious  of  ray  getting  the  premiums,  and 
rode  me  out  on  a  rail,  or  on  one  of  the  above  articles,  tooth 
side  up.  And  you  needn't  suppose  I  am  going  to  write 
about  a  saw,  though  it's  a  very  convenient  tool  about  a 
farmer's  workshop.  But  you  see  there  is  a  saying,  "Penny 
wise,  pound  foolish,"  that  is  always  a  see-sawing  up  and 
down  in  some  folks'  mouths,  that  they  call  an  old  saw,  as 
they  do  all  such  like  proverbs.  I  expect  they  call  'em  so, 
because  of  the  teetering  process  which  such  sayings  are 
always  undergoing.  There  is  a  deal  of  pith  in  'em,  as  a 


36  THE  TIM  BUNKER  PAPERS. 

rule,  though  they  are  made  to  apologize  for  pretty  much 
all  sorts  of  shortcomings.  I  am  now  going  to  bring  out 
this  old  proverb,  "Penny  wise,  and  pound  foolish,"  and 
putting  it  at  one  end  of  the  plank,  I  mean  to  give  some  of 
the  Hookertown  people  an  airing  on  the  other. 

I  wish  some  of  our  folks  up  here  could  look  at  them 
selves  and  their  farming  in  a  looking-glass,  and  just  see 
what  sort  of  work  they  are  making.  You  see,  every  man 
thinks  every  man  penny  wise  but  himself.  The  looking- 
glass  would  often  bring  'em  right. 

Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass  I  s'pose  never  spent  the 
value  of  fifty  cents  in  his  life  for  seeds  of  any  kind  before 
he  went  in  for  that  China .  potato  last  year.     He  could  not 
see,  for  the  life  of  him,  but  what  one  kind  of  seed  was  about 
as  good  as  another.     The  onion  seed,  and  carrot  and  par 
snip  seed,  that  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  always  saved  and  stored 
away  in  an  old  basket  in  the  pantry,  always  came  up  and 
bore  something,  though  the  onions  might  have  been  mis 
taken  for  leeks,  they  were  so  little,  and  the  other  roots 
were  hardly  big  enough  to  make  a  spile  for  the  cider  barrel. 
Everything  else  in  his  garden  was  just  so.     The  parsnips, 
cabbage,  and  beets,  were  all  crossed,  and  run  out  as  they 
call  it,  and  there  was  hardly  a  decent  vegetable  in  his 
garden  for  want  of  good  seed.     He  could  not  afford  to 
buy  it  when  he  had  it   in  the  house — used  to  talk  about 
hurting  his  wife's  feelings  if  he  should  not  use  the   seed 
she  had  saved.     That  would  have  been  less  of  a  joke,  you 
see,  if  he  had  always  been  careful  of  her  feelings  on  other 
occasions.     Well,  you  see,  when  he  read  those  advertise 
ments  in  that    yellow-covered  literature   last  spring,  he 
altered  his  mind  some  about  potato  seed,  and  thought  he 
would  put  in  for  a  dozen  at  ten  dollars.     He  was  going  to 
be  a  pound  wise  man,  and  show  his  neighbors  some  pota 
toes  that  were  potatoes.     Didn't  he  catch  it,  though  !   The 
Sparrowgrass  family  have  hardly  had  potatoes  on  the  table 
since.     It  is  said  they  set  bad  on  Uncle  Jotham's  stomach. 


THE    TIM    BUJSKER    PAPERS.  37 

Now  you  sec  I  tried  this  planting  of  seeds  gathered 
from  the  odds  and  ends  of  the  garden,  for  rising  of  forty 
years,  and  I  think  it  is  a  penny  wise  business — my  onions 
used  to  be  scullions,  my  cabbages  did  not  head  well,  and 
the  tap-roots  would  often  run  to  seed  the  first  year.  Last 
spring,  you  see,  when  I  went  down  to  the  city  to  sell  rny 
beef  cattle,  I  went  to  a  first-rate  agricultural  store,  and 
spent  about  ten  dollars  in  garden  seeds.  It  was  those 
seed,  as  well  as  the  subsoil  plowing  and  manuring,  that 
enabled  me  to  take  the  premiums  at  the  Fair.  Seth 
Tvviggs  came  along  the  day  I  was  putting  them  into  the 
cellar,  and  said :  "  Waal,  Squire  Bunker,  I  dew  declare,  I 
never  saw  such  a  sight  of  garden  sass  going  into  your 
cellar  afore  ! " 

Seth  was  right.  I  never  had  such  roots  or  cabbage 
heads.  It  was  fun  to  pull  them.  And  I  have  pretty  much 
made  up  my  mind  that  seed  is  one  of  the  chief  points  in 
good  farming.  I  think  there  is  a  difference  of  one 
quarter  in  the  crop  between  good  seed  and  poor.  So, 
when  I  went  down  to  the  city  this  spring,  I  took  time  by 
the  forelock,  and  got  another  lot  of  seed  at  the  same  place. 
And  I  want  to  say  to  all  your  readers  in  Hookertown,  and 
the  rest  of  Connecticut,  that  if  they  expect  to  compete 
with  me  at  the  fair  next  fall,  they  must  burn  up  the  old 
seed,  papers,  basket  and  all,  and  get  the  best  in  the  mar 
ket.  It  is  a  penny  wise  business  to  use  poor  old  seed  in 
the  spring,  and  mighty  pound  foolish  in  the  fall. 


NO.  13.— BOOK  FARMING  IN  HOOKERTOWN. 

ME.  EDITOR. — I  suppose  every  man  likes  to  know  how 
the  truck  he  sends  to  market  suits  his  customers.  At 
any  rate  that  is  the  case  at  my  house,  where  a  good  re 
port  of  the  butter  and  a  call  for  more  is  certain  to  keep 


38  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

my  wife  good-natured  for  a  week.  As  her  butter  is  tip 
top,  and  I  bring  home  the  news  once  a  week,  she  passes 
for  a  very  amiable  woman  the  year  round.  Now  I  sup 
pose  an  editor  may  have  some  human  nature  about  him, 
and  may  like  to  know  how  his  wares  suit  the  market,  and 
what  sort  of  influence  they  have  upon  the  world. 

There  has  been  a  great  change  up  here  in  Hookertown, 
and  all  through  Connecticut,  during  the  last  four  or  five 
years.  Since  then  we  have  got  our  State  society  a  going, 
and  new  county  societies  have  been  started,  and  I  guess 
I  speak  within  bounds  when  I  say  that  ten  times  as  many 
agricultural  papers  are  taken  as  there  were  five  years  ago. 
These  things  have  had  a  mighty  influence  upon  farming, 
and  I  should  think  in  our  town  the  garden  crops  had  been 
doubled,  and  full  twenty  per  cent,  has  been  added  to  the 
crops  in  the  field.  Some  folks  have  got  to  taking  the 
papers,  and  reading  them,  that  I  should  as  soon  have  ex 
pected  to  see  reading  Latin.  Seth  Twiggs  was  in  at  our 
house  last  evening,  and  he  was  telling  how  he  come  to 
take  the  Agriculturist.  I  give  you  the  story  as  he  told  it 
to  me. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Squire  Bunker,  that  lot  o'  garden 
sass  I  see'd  you  putting  into  the  cellar  last  fall  did  the 
work  for  me.  You  see,  I'd  always  thought  that  this  book- 
farming  was  the  worst  kind  of  humbug,  leading  folks  to 
spend  a  heap  of  money,  and  to  get  nothing  back  agin. 
I'd  heard  the  Parson  and  Deacon  Smith,  and  the  young 
Spouter  from  Shadtown,  (there  was  a  twinkle  in  Seth's 
eye  here,  and  a  very  grave  look  at  Sally,)  talking  about 
guano,  and  what  tremendous  crops  it  would  fetch,  and 
then  agin  about  phosphates  and  superphosphates,  which 
was  all  as  dark  as  fate  to  me.  You  see  I  thought  them  big 
words  was  all  nonsense,  and  the  stuff  itself  no  better  than 
so  much  moonshine  on  the  land.  The  Deacon's  crops,  you 
know,  have  been  amazing  for  some  years,  and  then  the 
strawberries  last  spring,  and  that  lot  of  sass,  convinced 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  39 

me  that  there  must  be  something  about  book-farming  arter 
all.  So  I  went  home  and  talked  the  matter  over  with  my 
woman,  what  the  minister  said,  and  how  the  crops  came 
in  where  they  used  the.sub-sile  plow." 

"  Well,"  says  she,  "  Seth,  what  is  the  use  of  your  al 
ways  standing  by,  and  hearing  tilings  said  that  you  don't 
understand,  like  a  stupid  calf?  Why  don't  you  'scribe  and 
take  them  books  ?" 

"  Cause  why?  How  can  I  afford  it?  I  haven't  quite 
paid  for  my  farm  yet,  and  the  baby  was  sick  this  winter, 
and  the  doctor's  bill  isn't  paid.  And  you  know,  wife, 
we  have  always  gone  upon  the  principle  that  '  a  penny 
saved  is  two-pence  earned.'  We  can't  spend  a  dollar  for 
farming  books." 

"  Well,  Seth,"  said  she,  "  never  mind.  I  can  raise  the 
dollar.  '  Where  there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way.'  I  can  make 
the  old  shawl  and  bonnet  do  another  year,  and  that  will 
be  ten  dollars  in  your  pocket.  Everything  that  a  farmer 
has  to  sell  is  high;  at  any  rate,  we  should  think  so  if  we 
had  to  buy  it.  I  can  remember  well  enough  when  butter 
was  only  ten  cents  a  pound,  now  it  is  thirty ;  and  many  a 
bushel  of  potatoes  you  have  carried  to  market  for  twelve 
and  a  half  cents,  now  they  are  one  dollar  and  more. 
Seth,  if  you  railly  want  them  books,  I'd  have  'em  any 
how.  It  wont  take  a  great  deal  of  land  to  raise  an  extra 
bushel  of  potatoes,  and  if  you're  put  to  it  for  help,  I'll 
agree  to  hoe  'em." 

"  Enough  said,"  says  I.  "  Woman,  I'm  bound  to  have 
the  books."  So  I  sent  a  dollar  down  to  Mr.  Judd  by  the 
Parson,  the  last  time  he  went  down  to  the  city,  and  it 
wa'n't  long  before  the  January  number  came,  as  full  of 
good  reading  as  an  egg  is  of  meat.  I  had  a  regular  set-to 
a  reading  on't,  the  first  night,  and  I  declare  if  it  wa'n't 
smack  twelve  o'clock  before  I  gin  it  up.  I'd  got  along  to 
that  phosphate  factory,  when  wife  spoke  out — says  she  ; 
"  I  thought  them  farming  papers  was  all  nonsense  1" 


40  THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

"  Don't  talk,"  says  I.  "  You  see  this  paper,  wife,  is  on 
my  side.  It  is  showing  up  the  humbug,  and  no  mistake. 
And  there  is  more  humbug  in  the  world  than  I  ever 
dreamed  of." 

Upon  this,  Seth  lit  "his  pipe  and  vanished  in  smoke. 


.  14.— HIS  VIEWS  ON  PASTURING  CATTLE  IN 
THE  ROAD. 


MR.  EDITOR. — You  see,  I  was  so  busy  last  month,  plant 
ing,  and  getting  things  started  for  the  summer,  that  I 
didn't  find  a  minute's  time  to  write  to  anybody,  and  hardly 
to  be  polite  to  my  neighbors.  I  wish  all  my  neighbors 
had  been  as  busy,  and  as  slack  on  politeness  as  myself. 
But  no  sooner  had  the  grass  begun  to  start  in  the  spring, 
than  some  of  them  began  to  send  along  their  compliments 
by  their  cattle,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  By  your  leave,  Mr. 
Bunker,  I  will  keep  your  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  well 
cut  and  shaven,  and  won't  ask  you  anything  for  the  job." 
I  counted,  on  Saturday,  at  least  a  dozen  animals  in  the 
road.  There  was  Jake  Frink's  horse  and  colt,  and  Bill 
Bottom's  drove  of  yearlings,  and  Uncle  Jothum  Sparrow- 
grass's  two  cows,  besides  two  or  three  other  folks'  cows 
that  I  should  not  like  to  mention  in  the  same  company. 

Now  you  see,  Mr.  Editor,  if  a  man's  going  to  be  polite 
at  all,  it  is  always  best  to  attend  to  it  in  person.  This 
sending  along  civilities  by  stray  cattle  is  rather  doubtful 
courtesy.  It  might  happen,  you  know,  that  the  shaving 
of  one's  lawn  down  to  the  roots  would  not  be  acceptable, 
and  if  it  were,  a  second  civility  in  the  shape  of  the  hogs 
to  turn  the  sod  of  the  lawn  bottom  side  up,  might  be  a 


STRAY  COWS  IN  THE  CORN. 


Page  41. 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  41 

little  too  much  of  a  good  thing.     (You  see  I  have  learned 
to  say  "  lawns  "  since  I  commenced  reading  the  papers.) 

Now,  I  don't  like  to  say  a  word  against  my  neighbors 
in  general,  or  the  Hookertovvn  people  in  particular.  But 
this  turning  cattle  into  the  street  is  a  piece  of  bad  morals 
that  is  a  disgrace  to  any  community.  It  is  against  the 
law,  and  every  man  has  a  right  to  put  stray  animals  in  the 
pound,  and  make  the  owners  pay  damages.  But  if  one 
enforces  the  law,  it  always  makes  trouble,  and  the  man 
who  finds  his  cattle  impounded,  always  feels  aggrieved, 
and  lays  up  a  grudge  against  his  complaining  neighbor. 
He  does  not  consider  that  he  has  himself  been  an  offender 
first,  and  violated  the  law.  It  is  a  clear  case,  that  when 
streets  were  laid  out  they  ceased  to  be  private  property, 
and  were  henceforth  to  be  held  for  the  public  good,  to 
serve  simply  the  purposes  of  travel.  If  a  man  turns  his 
cattle  into  the  highways  to  feed,  he  violates  the  rights  of 
his  neighbor  as  much  as  if  he  turned  them  into  his  neigh 
bor's  pasture.  He  appropriates  to  his  own  use  what  be 
longs  to  another.  He  not  only  trespasses  upon  the  public 
domain,  but  his  cattle  become  a  nuisance  to  the  whole 
neighborhood.  They  enter  every  open  gate  and  yard,  and 
frequently  become  unruly,  leap  fences,  and  destroy  crops 
at  this  season  of  the  year.  The  loss  of  temper  from  these 
constantly  recurring  provocations  is  very  great.  I  think 
Job  himself  would  have  fretted  some,  to  have  waked  up 
in  the  morning  and  found  a  dozen  cows  in  his  corn-field. 

It  is  a  barbarous  practice,  and  costs  the  community  a 
hundred-fold  more  than  all  the  grass  in  the  road  is  worth. 
"We  have  to  make  a  great  deal  more  fence  than  we  should 
need  if  everybody  confined  their  cattle  to  their  own  pas 
tures.  Now,  every  man  has  to  fence  all  his  lands  by  the 
road,  not  for  his  own  convenience,  but  to  keep  other 
folks'  cattle  from  trespassing  upon  him.  I  have  been  in 
Communities  without  fences  by  the  road-side  for  miles, 
and  rode  through  the  standing  corn,  rye  and  oats,  without 


42  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

seeing  a  cow  or  calf.  When  we  reckon  fence  at  a  dollar 
a  rod,  we  can  see  to  what  a  large  expense  farmers  are  sub 
jected,  to  give  a  few  penurious  people  the  privilege  of 
pasturing  their  cattle  in  the  road. 

You  see,  Mr.  Editor,  I  am  not  going  to  stand  this  nui 
sance  any  longer.  I  shall  give  Jake  Frink  and  Bill  Bot 
tom  one  fair  warning,  and  after  that,  if  their  cattle  are 
found  in  the  road,  they  will  go  to  the  pound.  This  kind 
of  politeness  costs  too  much  entirely.  What  do  you  think 
of  it? 

[Esquire  Bunker  is  right.  Cattle  running  at  large  are 
a  nuisance  that  should  not  be  tolerated  in  any  civilized 
community.  The  pound  is  a  sure  remedy.  Let  him  try 
it.— ED.] 


NO.  15.— TIM   BUNKER  ON  THE  WEAKER 
BRETHREN. 


MR.  EDITOR: — I  see  by  a  former  number  of  the  Agri 
culturist  that  you  had  your  reporter  up  here,  taking  notes 
at  our  Farmers'  Club.  I  had  no  idea  that  he  was  around, 
or  I  should  have  fixed  up  my  remarks  in  a  little  better 
shape,  and  dove-tailed  the  argument  on  mixed  papers  a 
little  tighter  together.  I  hold  that  what  a  man  sees  fit. 
to  print,  should  be  water-tight.  I  want  you  to  under 
stand,  and  the  public  also,  that  J  am  not  responsible  for 
anything  the  reporters  say  about  me,  and  that  none  of 
Tim  Bunker's  sayings  are  the  genuine  article,  unless  they 
come  direct  from  Hookertown,  and  are  over  my  name. 
You  see  they  have  got  to  counterfeiting  my  name  already, 
just  as  they  have  Perry  Davis',  the  inventor  of  the  pain 


THE  TIM  BUNKER  PAPERS.  43 

killer,  and  old  Dr.  Townsend's  sarsaparilla.  It  was  only 
the  other  day,  that  I  saw  a  lot  of  my  sayings  in  the  Times 
about  bad  butter,  that  were  never  designed  for  the  public 
at  all.  It  was  a  private  talk  between  me  and  my  old 
friend  Jones,  and  who  in  the  world  put  them  things  in 
that  paper,  is  more  than  I  can  tell.  It  must  be  confessed, 
however,  that  he  got  the  substance  of  what  we  said  across 
the  table,  pretty  near  correct.  I  suspect  Jones,  the  sly 
dog,  knows  more  about  it  than  he  would  like  to  tell. 

I  took  my  pen  in  hand  to  say  a  word  about  a  class  of 
farmers  we  have  up  here  in  our  neighborhood.  You  see, 
in  the  church  they  have  a  kind  of  members  that  the  min 
ister  calls  "the  weaker  brethren."  They  don't  seem  to 
have  faith  enough  in  them  to  make  their  religion  of  any 
account.  They  are  always  at  the  tail  end  of  the  heap,  and 
like  the  stragglers  in  a  flock  of  sheep,  under  the  wall,  or 
stuck  fast  in  the  mud.  They  are  a  disgrace  to  the  cause. 

Now  we  have  some  Hookertown  farmers,  that  make  me 
think  of  these  weaker  brethren  'fore  all  the  world.  They 
don't  read  the  papers,  and  don't  believe  in  good  farming 
any  more  than  such  disciples  believe  the  gospel.  You 
can  not  get  them  to  take  the  agricultural  journals,  and 
they  laugh  at  all  the  new  tools  that  have  been  invented 
to  help  farmers  in  their  work.  Instead  of  cleaning  up 
their  fields  so  as  to  use  a  mowing  machine,  they  sweat  over 
the  scythe  at  the  rate  of  an  acre  a  day.  Instead  of  hav 
ing  a  barn  cellar  to  save  manure,  it  is  mostly  wasted  in 
the  yards  and  highways.  Instead  of  sheltering  cattle,  in 
the  cold,  snowy  weather,  they  fodder  them  out  at  a  stack 
all  winter.  I  do  not  know  but  I  am  wicked,  but  I  wish 
every  one  of  them  could  have  been  out  that  cold  night  in 
January,  when  the  mercury  froze.  I  think  they  would 
have  learned  to  pity  dumb  cattle.  I  find  such  farmers  are 
always  complaining  of  hard  times,  and  are  never  able  to 
pay  their  debts.  They  are  always  running  down  farming, 
and  talking  about  emigrating  to  the  West,  just  as  if  a 


44  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

change  of  place  was  a  going  to  change  their  characters, 
and  make  such  shiftless  farmers  thriving  men. 

Now  I  have  been  thinking  that  these  weaker  brethren 
were  living  on  "Missionary  ground"  as  the  saying  is,  and 
that  the  farmers  who  read  the  papers  ought  to  come  over 
and  help  them.  It  is  no  use  for  you  to  advertise  your 
paper  on  this  account,  for  such  people  do  not  take  any 
paper,  either  political  or  religious.  If  one  of  your  agents 
were  to  come  along,  and  ask  them  to  subscribe,  they 
would  feel  insulted,  if  they  could  get  near  enough  to  them 
to  make  their  business  known.  I  am  going  to  propose  to 
our  Farmers'  Club  to  go  out  among  these  weaker  brethren 
and  see  if  we  can't  get  them  to  take  the  papers,  and  mend 
their  ways.  You  see  they  can't  say  we  are  mere  book- 
farmers,  and  that  our  notions  are  all  moonshine,  for  they 
know  that  our  farms  look  enough  sight  better  than  theirs, 
and  that  our  farmimg  pays,  so  that  we  have  money  to 
lend.  After  all,  Mr.  Editor,  there  is  nothing  like  an  argu 
ment  with  the  hard  coin  at  the  end  on't.  It  does  weigh 
They  appreciate  the  farming  that  brings  the  clean  cash. 
That  is  the  kind  of  farming  we  find  your  paper  recom 
mends,  and  as  it  is  a  poor  rule  that  don't  work  both 
ways,  I  send  you  the  clean  cash  for  a  dozen  subscribers 
gathered  among  these  weaker  brethren.  Consider  these 
as  the  first  fruits.  Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 


NO.   16.— TIM  BUNKER   ON  CURING  A  HORSE- 
POND. 


MR.  EDITOR. — Your  readers  have  already  heard  some 
thing  about  Jake  Frink,  and  how  he  took  the  Premium  on 
carrots  over  me  at  the  Hookertown  Fair.  Perhaps  they 
would  like  to  hear  something  about  a  horse-pond  that  Jake 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  45 

used  to  own,  about  half- way  between  my  house  and  his.  It 
was  Ml  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  his  house,  but  as  it  was 
the  nearest  water  that  Nature  had  provided,  it  had  always 
been  used  to  water  Jake's  horses  and  cattle,  when  they 
were  not  in  the  pasture.  It  lay  by  the  road-side  at  the 
foot  of  a  gentle  hill,  and  the  water  for  all  the  wet  part  of 
the  year  flowed  off  over  the  adjoining  lot,  making  it  a 
sort  of  quagmire,  except  in  times  of  drouth.  An  animal 
would  mire  in  any  part  of  the  lot  up  to  its  knees.  It 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  could  bring  water  into  his 
yard  at  a  little  expense,  and  save  this  daily  journey  of  his 
cattle  to  the  pond.  He  never  thought  how  much  manure 
was  wasted  along  the  road,  and  what  a  nuisance  his  cattle 
became  to  his  neighbors,  as  they  were  often  turned  into 
the  road,  to  get  water,  and  to  take  care  of  themselves. 
He  never  thought  that  the  horse-pond  spoiled  two  acres 
of  the  best  land  on  his  farm,  and  that  it  cost  him  at  least 
twenty  dollars  a  year  to  keep  up  this  watering  place.  The 
quagmire  did  not  pay  him  the  interest  on  twenty  dollars  a 
year.  It  ought  to  have  paid  him  ten  per  cent  on  two 
hundred. 

The  horse-pond  I  did  not  care  anything  about,  but 
Jake's  cattle,  geese,  and  pigs,  always  drawn  up  my  way 
by  this  water,  were  a  perpetual  torment  to  me  and  to  my 
neighbors.  I  thought  I  had  a  right  to  abate  the  nuisance. 
So  I  hailed  neighbor  Frink  one  day,  last  fall,  about  sell 
ing  the  two-acre  lot  near  the  horse-pond.  It  was  before 
the  fair,  for  since  my  remarks  about  stimulating  the  carrot 
crop  with  horse  manure  he  has  been  rather  offish.  Ever 
since  I  put  down  the  tile  drain  in  my  garden  I  have  formed 
a  great  idea  of  curing  wet  land,  and  I  thought  this  piece 
of  sour,  unprofitable  pasture  might  easily  be  turned  into  a 
productive  meadow. 

Says  I,  "  Mr.  Frink,  what  will  you  take  for  that  bit  of 
swamp  land  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  ?" 

"  It  is  worth  about  twenty  dollars  an  acre,  I  suppose. 


46  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

You  hold  a  note  against  me  for  about  what  the  land  would 
come  to.  Give  me  the  note,  and  I  will  give  you  a  deed." 

"  That  is  rather  a  hard  bargain,  neighbor,  the  land  does 
not  pay  you  the  interest  on  half  that  sum.  But  as  I  want 
the  land,  I  will  take  it." 

The  deed  was  given,  and  I  took  possession  last  Novem 
ber.  We  had  a  wonderful  mild  fall  and  winter,  and  I 
went  right  to  work  upon  the  land.  The  old,  broken-down 
wall  by  the  road-side,  that  had  always  been  an  eyesore  to 
me,  I  immediately  dropped  into  a  four-foot  ditch,  making 
a  covered  culvert  of  the  stone.  There  was  fall  enough  to 
take  all  the  water  clean  from  the  bottom  of  the  ditch,  and 
carry  it  off  at  the  lower  side  of  the  adjoining  lot.  I  cut 
four  ditches  at  right  angles  to  the  ditch  by  the  road-side, 
and  put  in  tile  at  the  bottom.  The  depth  to  which  they 
were  laid  varied  from  three  to  four  feet,  as  the  surface  was 
not  exactly  even.  I  had  no  sooner  cut  the  main  drain 
than  the  horse-pond  all  ran  away,  leaving  the  bottom  at 
least  two  feet  above  the  water  line  in  the  adjoining  drain. 
The  change  in  the  looks  of  the  land  this  spring  is  aston 
ishing  even  to  myself.  Here,  where  cattle  have  always 
mired  as  they  went  out  to  crop  the  first  grass  of  May, 
there  is  now  a  firm  foothold.  I  have  already  plowed  the 
most  of  it,  and  have  put  in  a  crop  of  early  potatoes.  The 
drains  are  just  thirty  feet  apart,  and  the  tile  at  the  lower 
end  constantly  discharge  water,  and  will  probably  con 
tinue  to  do  so,  until  midsummer. 

But  my  astonishment  was  nothing  compared  to  Jake 
Frink's,  when  he  came  along  and  saw  his  horse-pond  en 
tirely  evaporated. 

"  My  goodness,  Squire  Bunker,  what  does  this  mean  ! 
What  am  I  going  to  do  for  a  place  to  water  my  cattle 
in?" 

u  Hold,  neighbor  Frink.  Did  you  sell  me  this  piece  of 
land  ?" ' 

"  I  did." 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  47 

"  Did  I  promise  you  that  I  would  not  improve  it  ?" 

"  No,  you  did  not,  but  who'd  have  thought  that  you 
was  going  to  knock  a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  my  horse-pond 
in  this  style  ?" 

"  Water  will  run  clown  hill,  neighbor  Frink,  and  I  can't 
help  it.  The  same  law  that  enables  me  to  drain  this 
swamp  will  bring  water  from  the  hill-side  right  into  your 
yard  and  house.  You  then  can  save  all  your  manure,  just 
as  I  do,  and  your  cattle  will  not  have  the  trouble  of  going 
after  water  in  the  cold  of  winter,  and  you  will  not  have 
the  trouble  of  scouring  all  Hookertown,  to  look  them  up. 
Your  cattle  will  no  longer  be  a  nuisance,  and  you  will 
save  yourself  a  world  of  fretting  and  scolding.  I  have 
really  done  you  a  kindness  in  drying  up  this  pond-hole. 
But  as  you  may  not  look  upon  it  in  this  light,  I  will  give 
you  the  muck  that  lies  in  the  bottom,  at  least  a  hundred 
cords  of  the  wash  of  the  roads,  and  the  droppings  of  your 
cattle  for  the  last  twenty  years.  It  is  better  manure, 
to-day,  than  a  great  deal  that  you  cart  out  of  your  yard." 

Mr.  Frink  took  my  remarks  in  dudgeon  at  the  time, 
and  hardly  spoke  to  me  for  a  month.  But  this  spring  the 
lead  pipe  was  laid,  and  he  has  now  as  good  a  watering 
trough,  fed  with  living  water,  as  any  of  his  neighbors. 
The  muck,  too,  is  not  despised,  for  as  I  write  I  see  Jake's 
cart,  well  loaded,  going  up  to  the  yard  where  muck  has 
hitherto  been  a  great  stranger.  In  short,  I  have  strong 
hopes  of  making  something  out  of  Jake  yet,  though  he 
cheated  me  out  of  the  Premium.  But  whatever  may  be 
true  of  his  reform,  the  horse-pond  is  thoroughly  cured,  and 
if  you  will  come  up  here  on  the  glorious  Fourth,  to 
help  us  celebrate,  I  will  show  you  as  handsome  a  piece  of 
potatoes  as  ever  grew  out  of  doors. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUXKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown^  May  15,  1858. 


48  THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

.  17.— DOMESTICITIES  AT  TIM  BUNKER'S. 


Our  readers  have  become  so  much  interested  in  the 
affairs  of  Hookertown  in  general,  and  at  Esquire  Bunker's 
in  particular,  that  we  feel  obliged  to  keep  them  "  posted 
up  "  in  current  events  thereabouts,  even  if  not  in  all  cases 
strictly  agricultural.  The  Squire  has  been  so  busy  with 
other  engagements  that  he  has  failed  to  send  us  the  usual 
letter  for  the  month,  but  we  chance  to  be  prepared  to  fill 
the  gap — not  so  well  as  he  could  do,  of  course.  We  had 
fully  intended  to  celebrate  Independence  Day  at  Squire 
Bunker's,  and  since  we  have  seen  the  bill  of  fare  he  had 
prepared,  we  regret  more  than  ever  that  a  pressure  of 
business  prevented  our  visit  to  Hookertown.  Our  German 
Edition,  added  to  our  other  cares,  has  completely  absorbed 
us,  so  that  we  have  not  had  a  moment  to  think  of  the 
clover  fields  and  the  hospitalities  of  old  Connecticut. 
Esquire  Bunker  will  please  accept  our  apologies  for  this 
seeming  neglect,  and  for  anything  defective  he  may  find 
in  the  report  of  the  occasion.  The  fact  is,  the  young  man 
we  sent  up  there  had  his  head  turned,  (or  rather  his 
heart)  by  the  Hookertown  damsels,  and  came  back  nearer 
addled  than  any  fellow  we  have  seen  in  a  twelve-month. 
The  whole  report  had  such  a  tint  of  rose  color,  that  we 
have  reduced  the  tone  full  one-half,  besides,  throwing  out 
lots  of  poetry,  that  were  more  appropriate  to  the  Knick 
erbocker  than  to  our  matter-of-fact  journal.  Well  here  is 

"OUR  OWN  REPORTER'S"   REPORT — SOMEWHAT   GARBLED. 
Hookertown^  Ct.,  July  5th,  1858. 

MARRIED. 

SLOCTJM — BUNKER. — At  Hookertown,  Ct.,  on  Saturday, 
July  3rd,  in  the  Congregational  Meeting-house,  by  the 
Rev.  Jacob  Spooner,  Rev.  Josinh  Slocum,  of  Shadtown, 
to  Sally,  eldest  daughter  of  Timothy  Bunker,  Esq.,  of  this 
place.  A  large  loaf  attests  the  fact  to  the  printers. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPE11S.  49 

The  above  slip  from  the  Hookertown  Gazette  of  this 
morning  will  indicate  pretty  clearly  the  character  of  the 
clover  fields  your  reporter  was  called  upon  to  inspect. 
I  must  say,  Mr.  Editor,  that  I  never  was  quite  so  much 
taken  aback  as  upon  last  Saturday.  I  had  supposed,  from 
your  instructions,  that  I  was  simply  to  inspect  Esquire 
Bunker's  improvements,  and  to  report  to  the  public  how 
much  allowance  was  to  be  made  for  the  enthusiasm  of 
your  Hookertown  correspondent.  For  everybody  under 
stands,  that  these  sober  Connecticut  people,  when  they 
are  once  waked  up  and  take  to  riding  hobbies,  are  as  apt 
to  ride  fast  as  others.  I  had  prepared  myself  to  take 
notes  upon  extensive  meadows,  all  blooming  and  ready 
for  the  scythe ;  upon  under-draining,  subsoil  plowing,  &G. 
I  thought  my  Sunday  dress  was  hardly  needed  in  a  short 
trip  to  the  country,  and  so  I  came  off  in  my  every-day 
toggery.  Young  John  Bunker  met  me  at  the  cars,  accord 
ing  to  agreement,  and  away  we  went,  up  hill  and  down, 
for  about  six  miles,  after  as  handsome  a  pair  of  Black 
Hawk  mares  as  you  can  scare  up  in  the  pastures  of  Ver 
mont.  Horse  breeding  has  received  a  new  impulse  in  the 
State  within  a  few  years,  and  the  annual  exhibitions  at 
the  State  Fair  are  hard  to  beat  in  any  part  of  the  Union. 
Gentlemen  of  ample  means  have  taken  hold  of  the  busi 
ness,  and  they  spare  no  pains  or  money  to  secure  the  very 
best  stock.  John  has  a  passion  for  horse  flesh,  as  the 
readers  of  the  Bunker  papers  are  well  aware.  Though  a 
lad  of  fifteen,  he  is  about  as  mature  and  well  posted  on 
farm  matters  as  the  old  gentleman  himself.  This  team, 
which  belonged  to  himself  and  Sally,  was  well  broken 
to  the  saddle,  and  with  a  good  road  could  do  a  mile  inside 
of  four  minutes.  We  were  just  thirty-five  minutes  coming 
over  from  the  depot,  and  John  said  he  "  should  have  come 
much  quicker  but  father  told  him  not  to  drive  fast." 

When  I  reached  here,  I  found  the  place  all  astir,  and 
Esquire  Bunker's  lit  up  with  such  a  glow  of  excitement 


50  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

as  has  not  taken  place  since  the  horse-pond  was  cured. 
I  supposed  they  were  getting  ready  for  the  glorious 
Fourth,  which  has  to  be  celebrated  this  year  a  day  behind 
time.  But  I  soon  learned  that  Miss  Sally  was  a  bride, 
and  that  Rev.  Mr.  Slocum,  of  Shadtown,  was  the  fortunate 
individual  who  was  this  day  to  lead  her  to  the  altar.  The 
house  and  garden  were  full  of  the  country  lasses,  the 
school-mates  and  more  intimate  friends  of  the  bride,  com 
ing  up  to  sympathize  with  her  in  her  leave-taking  of 
home,  and  in  her  departure  for  the  parsonage  of  Shad- 
town.  Wasn't  your  humble  servant  in  a  fix,  to  be  caught 
in  such  a  presence  with  his  field  dress  of  coarse  linen  on  ? 
Such  a  clover  field  as  this  was  a  good  deal  more  than  I 
had  bargained  for.  I  have  seen  something  of  beauty  and 
womanly  grace,  as  one  has  opportunity  to  see  on  the 
promenades  and  in  the  parlors  of  the  metropolis,  but  I 
never  met  with  a  company  so  graceful  and  accomplished 
as  were  gathered  to  do  honor  to  this  occasion. 

This  country  wedding  has  made  clear  to  me,  what  I 
never  understood  before,  the  claim  of  this  State  to  be 
called  "The  land  of  Steady  Habits"  It  was  easy  to  see 
on  very  short  acquaintance  the  home  influences  under 
which  these  daughters  had  come  up — the  thorough  prac 
tical  training  they  had  received  in  the  school-room,  as 
well  as  in  the  kitchen  and  in  the  parlor.  Probably  the 
State  is  better  furnished  than  any  other  with  the  means 
of  education.  In  almost  every  important  town,  there  is 
a  good  academy  or  high  school,  not  only  accessible  to  the 
daughters  of  farmers,  but  largely  patronised  by  them. 
Here  they  go  with  their  brothers,  as  soon  as  they  leave  the 
district  school,  to  be  drilled  in  many  of  the  same  studies 
with  them — to  emulate  them  in  the  natural  sciences,  in 
mathematics,  and  in  the  languages.  .The  emulation  is  a 
healthful  one,  and  the  boys  are  generally  put  upon  their 
mettle  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  girls.  The  embellish 
ments  of  female  education  have  this  very  substantial 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK   PAPERS.  51 

groundwork  of  mental  discipline.  It  is  claimed  here,  as 
sound  doctrine,  that  a  girl  who  studies  geometry  will 
make  a  better  pudding  and  sing  a  better  song  than  she 
possibly  could  if  she  knew  nothing  of  Euclid ;  that  Cicero 
and  Sallust,  German  and  Algebra,  are  only  appropriate 
discipline  for  the  wash-tub  and  for  the  cradle.  Such  a 
training  gives  breadth  of  mind  to  woman,  and  a  strong, 
practical  tendency  to  her  maternal  influence.  Children 
brought  up  under  such  home  influences,  with  the  usual 
religious  training,  cannot  be  otherwise  than  well  balanced 
and  steady. 

If  you  have  imagined  a  company  of  simpering  misses 
gathered  at  Sally  Bunker's  wedding,  you  are  greatly  mis 
taken.  There  was  such  a  charm  about  their  dress,  that 
one  hardly  thought  of  it,  and,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  cannot 
tell  now  what  any  of  them  wore,  save  the  fresh  picked 
flowers,  which  so  became  them  that  they  seemed  always 
to  have  grown  there.  The  conversation  was  intelligent 
and  pleasing,  like  that  of  most  well-bred  people.  They 
entered  fully  into*  the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  and  were 
determined  to  "  see  Sally  off"  in  good  style.  Not  only 
were  the  parlors  at  Esq.  Bunker's  appropriately  orna 
mented,  but  the  pulpit  in  the  meeting-house  had  been 
festooned  with  white  roses,  as  if  the  sanctuary,  as  well  as 
the  minister,  was  to  receive  a  bride.  That  is  the  way 
they  do  things  out  here.  The  minister's  wife  is  married 
to  the  parish  as  well  as  her  husband,  and  is  as  legitimately 
a  subject  of  criticism  and  jealousy.  She  must  do  duty, 
fill  her  place,  conduct  prayer  meetings,  and  be  an  ensample 
to  the  flock,  as  much  as  the  shepherd  himself.  No  one 
can  quarrel  with  this  demand,  for  it  is  a  legitimate  fruit  of 
the  system  of  female  education.  Woman  fills  a  large  sphere 
out  here.  She  is  a  man,  and  something  more.  The  voca 
tion  of  "  the  Women's  Rights  orators  "  would  be  gone  in 
Hookertown,  and  they  would  be  set  down  as  vain  bab 
blers. 

3 


52  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

Now,  I  shall  not  tell  you  of  the  wedding  ceremony, 
which  came  off  in  the  crowded  church  at  eleven,  A.  M.; 
of  the  entertainment  at  Esquire  Bunker's,  got  up,  I  sus 
pect,  as  much  for  your  benefit  as  for  his  daughter's ;  of 
the  notabilities  of  Hookertown  there  assembled ;  of  the 
agreeable  things  there  said  and  done,  touching  agricul 
ture,  and  culture  of  other  kinds ;  of  the  dance  got  up  by 
a  few  of  the  young  folks  very  slyly,  on  a  green  patch  of 
turf  in  the  garden — an  affair  that  was  not  laid  down  in  the 
programme;  and  of  divers  other  matters  that  would  be 
appropriate  to  a  work  of  fiction. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  whole  thing  went  off  in  the 
happiest  manner,  and  the  jollification  of  to-day,  the  firing 
of  cannon  and  the  snapping  of  fire-crackers,  the  shouting  of 
the  boys  and  the  gala  dresses  of  the  girls,  the  holiday  aspect 
of  old  and  young,  might  be  taken  as  a  little  outbreak  of 
Hookertown  enthusiasm  at  the  marriage  of  Sally  Bunker. 
At  the  next  country  wedding,  may  I  be  there  to  see. 

YOUR  REPORTER. 


NO.  18.— TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ.,  ON  A 
JOURNEY. 


His  VIEWS  OF  RAILROADS — FARM  IMPROVEMENTS — SAND 
BARRENS — SWAMPS — SORGHUM. 

MR.  EDITOR. — I  do  not  know  but  you  have  thought  that 
my  letters  to  your  paper  have  "gin  out,"  seeing  that  I 
did  not  write  anything  the  past  two  months.  But  the 
fact  was,  I  have  been  off  to  see  what  was  going  on  in 
the  world,  outside  of  my  own  farm.  You  see  there  are 
some  people  up  here  that  think  Hookertown  is  in  the 
centre  of  the  world  exactly,  and  they  haven't  the  least 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  53 

idea  but  what  the  whole  world  turns  round  on  our  axis. 
In  fact  they  believe  that  the  north  pole  runs  straight 
through  our  meeting-house  steeple,  and  what  can't  be 
learned  in  our  parish  is  not  worth  knowing.  Ned  Bottom, 
a  man  of  seventy,  was  never  ten  miles  from  home,  and 
never  saw  a  steamboat  nor  a  locomotive.  It  was  only 
last  night  that  he  was  bragging  about  it,  as  if  it  was 
someting  to  be  proud  of.  "  He  had  never  been  caught  in 
one  of  those  man-traps.  Not  he !  " 

I  suppose  it  is  a  fact,  that  a  good  many  people  get  hurt 
on  the  railroads,  but  I  guess  not  so  many  in  proportion  to 
the  travel  as  are  injured  in  the  old-fashioned  way  of  horse 
and  carriage  journeying.  I  cannot  see  what  Providence 
has  suffered  such  things  to  be  invented  for,  unless  He 
designs  folks  should  use  them  to  find  out  what  the  rest 
of  the  world  is  made  of,  and  what  other  people  are  doing. 
Our  minister  preached  a  sermon  a  while  ago  about  "  Many 
shall  run  to  and  fro,  and  knowledge  shall  be  increased," 
and  he  thought  the  day  of  the  fulfillment  of  this  prophecy 
had  come.  Now  I  suppose  I  don't  hear  any  too  much  of 
sermons,  and  practice  altogether  too  little.  But  I  heard 
the  whole  of  this,  and  thought  I  would  fulfill  my  part  of 
the  prophecy,  and  started  off  in  the  cars,  with  my  wife, 
the  same  week. 

We  first  went  up  to  Uncle  Philip  Scranton's,  a  brother 
of  Sally's,  who  lives  in  Farmdale,  over  east  of  Hookertown. 
Connecticut,  you  know,  is  all  cut  up  into  railroads,  and 
has  more  track  to  the  square  mile  than  any  other  State 
in  the  Union.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  the  influence  these 
railroads  have  had  upon  the  farms,  wherever  I  have  trav 
eled.  Almost  every  farmer  lives  within  sound  of  the 
whistle,  and  has  a  ready  market  for  all  he  can  raise,  at  the 
depot  or  nearest  village.  Instead  of  going  off  to  Provi 
dence  or  Boston,  a  week's  journey,  to  sell  his  cheese,  but 
ter,  and  poultry,  an  hour's  ride  in  the  morning  brings  him 
to  a  market.  He  loses  little  time  and  gets  a  higher  price. 


54  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

This  stimulates  production,  and  it  is  wonderful  to  see  the 
rocky  lands  and  the  swamps  that  have  been  brought 
under  cultivation  to  meet  the  increased  demand  for  farm 
crops. 

Uncle  Philip  is  a  farmer  of  the  old  school,  but  keeps  up 
with  the  times  better  than  a  good  many  young  men.  He 
used  to  take  the  old  New-England  Farmer  forty  years 
ago,  and  got  a  good  many  ideas  from  Fessenden  and 
others,  who  sought  to  improve  farming  in  those  days. 
You  can  see  where  those  ideas  have  been  bearing  fruit  on 
his  farm  ever  since.  He  reclaimed  a  swamp  by  ditching, 
bogging,  and  covering  with  gravel,  thirty  years  ago,  and 
it  bears  near  three  tons  of  hay  to  the  acre  now. 

He  has  found  that  it  pays  to  clear  up  rocky  fields,  so 
rocky  that  most  lazy  men  get  discouraged.  He  has 
worked  up  these  rocks  into  heavy  stone  walls,  with  a 
handsome  face,  and  well  capped.  He  finds  these  cleared 
rocky  lands  just  the  spot  for  orchards,  and  some  of  the 
finest  trees  he  has  are  upon  these  reclaimed  pastures.  It 
is  astonishing  to  see  what  a  sight  of  work  a  man  can  do  in 
a  life-time,  and  what  a  beautiful  homestead  he  can  make 
of  rough  barren  acres. 

He  has  a  nice  garden  full  of  fine  vegetables,  which  are 
now  in  their  glory.  Up  in  one  corner  there  is  a  lot  of  bee 
hives,  full  of  music  and  honey,  setting  the  owner  a  good 
example  in  the  way  of  industry,  and  rewarding  him  for 
his  care  with  a  bountiful  supply  of  well-filled  comb.  All 
around  the  wall  he  has  fruit  trees  and  grape  vines,  which 
are  now  loaded  with  fruit. 

I  found  a  lot  of  your  Sugar  Cane  up  here,  and  indeed 
I  have  seen  it  all  through  the  State  where  I  have  traveled. 
One  farmer,  who  had  a  large  lot,  was  going  to  run  it 
through  his  cider  mill  to  crush  the  canes,  and  thought  it 
would  answer  all  the  purpose  of  a  sugar-mill.  Uncle 
Philip  was  trying  his  for  soiling,  and  found  it  to  work 
first-rate.  He  sowed  sweet  corn  along  side  of  it,  both 


THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  55 

in  drills,  and  found  that  the  cane  gave  the  most  fodder, 
and  that  the  cows  would  eat  it  the  quickest.  He  says 
there  is  almost  no  end  to  the  amount  of  stock  a  man  can 
summer,  if  he  will  only  sow  corn  or  sorghum.  He  thinks 
he  gets  a  quarter  more  milk  from  his  cows  for  this  daily 
fodder.  He  feeds  only  at  noon,  every  day.  He  thinks 
this  is  the  best  time,  because  the  cows  have  all  the  morn 
ing  to  eat  grass,  and  then  the  new  kind  of  food  offered  at 
noon  induces  them  to  eat  more.  The  more  food  you  can 
induce  a  cow  to  eat  and  digest,  the  more  milk  you  will 
get,  and  the  more  profit  you  will  find  in  keeping  her. 
This  is  one  of  his  maxims,  and  I  guess  he  is  right.  His 
stock  is  a  mixture  of  grade  Devons  and  grade  Durhams. 
He  averages  about  three  hundred  pounds  of  cheese  to  the 
cow,  every  year. 

Another  of  Uncle  Philip's  experiments  is  reclaiming  a 
sand  barren.  He  had  about  six  acres  of  such  poor  sandy 
land  that  nothing  would  grow  on  it.  It  was  not  worth 
the  taxes  paid  on  it.  He  has  put  on  muck  and  stable 
manure  in  such  quantities  that  it  will  now  yield  forty 
bushels  of  corn  to  the  acre.  I  find  he  has  a  great  idea  of 
muck,  as  all  the  farmers  have  in  this  region. 

In-doors,  Uncle  Philip's  wife  manages  things  quite  as 
well  as  he  does  upon  the  farm.  The  butter  and  cheese 
are  well  made,  and  the  house  is  well  kept.  I  wish  the 
Tribune  man,  that  told  such  stories  about  country  cook 
ing,  could  have  set  at  her  table  for  a  week,  as  we  did. 
The  coffee  and  tea  were  enough  sight  better  than  I  ever 
found  in  your  city,  and  the  bread,  meat,  and  vegetables, 
were  all  that  an  epicure  could  desire. 

I  had  no  idea,  when  I  stopped  writing,  that  so  many  of 
your  city  folks  was  a  going  to  follow  my  example,  and 
suspend.     I  shall  have  to  be  more  careful  of  my  conduct. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooJcertown,  October  15th,  1857. 


56  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPEES. 

NO.  19.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  FARM  ROADS. 


ME.  EDITOE:  I  couldn't  help  thinking,  when  I  was  off 
on  my  journey,  riding  on  the  rails,  what  an  awful  waste 
of  horse  and  ox  power  there  was  on  our  farms.  On  a 
railway  they  get  rid  of  all  the  obstacles,  make  the  path 
solid,  and  have  the  running  gear  as  perfect  as  possible. 
The  power  has  very  little  friction  to  overcome,  and  is  all 
spent  in  drawing  the  load.  On  a  plank  road,  they  do  a 
good  deal  to  remove  obstacles  and  make  a  solid  road-bed, 
but  plank-roads  and  railroads  on  our  farms  are  out  of  the 
question  for  doing  ordinary  farm  work.  The  next  best 
thing  is  the  common  highway,  in  which  there  is  some 
attention  paid  to  the  removal  of  rocks,  to  drainage,  and 
to  the  making  of  a  smooth  firm  road-bed.  This  kind  of 
road  is  within  the  reach  of  all  our  farmers,  and  I  think 
will  pay  a  great  deal  better  than  the  miserable  cart  paths 
that  most  of  us  are  contented  with.  A  farmer  is  just  as 
well  able  to  build  what  roads  he  needs  to  haul  his  wood, 
muck,  manure,  and  crops,  as  a  town  is  to  build  what  roads 
it  wants  for  the  mill,  the  market,  the  meeting,  and  the 
common  convenience.  Roads  leading  to  the  fields  and 
to  the  wood  lot,  that  are  a  good  deal  used,  ought  to  be 
worked  every  year  as  much  as  a  common  highway. 

Only  to  think  of  the  waste  of  time,  of  ox  flesh,  and  of 
cart-tire,  in  hauling  loads  over  such  a  road  as  Uncle 
Jotham  Sparrowgrass  has  upon  his  place !  It  leads  down 
to  what  he  calls  his  Lower  Place,  about  a  half  mile  from 
his  house.  Though  it  has  been  used  for  fifty  years  or 
more,  he  has  never  spent  a  day's  work'  in  mending  it. 
There  are  rocks  in  the  rut  a  foot  high  or  more,  and  holes 
where  the  wheel  goes  in  up  to  the  hub,  in  all  wet  weather. 
I  suppose'  his  team  has  been  driven  over  this  road  two 
hundred  times  in  a  year,  at  least,  with  an  average  load  of 


A   FARM   ROAD. 


Page  56. 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  57 

not  more  than  three-fourths  of  what  they  would  have 
drawn  upon  a  good  graveled  path.  In  other  words,  if  the 
cost  of  carting  a  load  over  this  road  is  fifty  cents,  he  has 
paid  fifty  dollars  a  year  for  the  privilege  of  a  rough  road, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  worrying  of  the  teams,  and  the 
breaking  down  of  the  carts,  and  the  swearing  at  the  mud- 
holes.  If  any  of  the  Hookertown  people  think  that  the 
swearing  reflects  at  all  upon  Uncle  Jotham,  they  can  sup 
pose  that  the  hired  man  drives  the  team  sometimes, 
though  I  don't  say  who  drives.  You  see,  when  the  team 
ster  finds  himself  with  a  load  of  green  hickory  stuck  fast 
in  three  feet  of  mud,  it  is  rather  a  trying  position  for  the 
temper. 

A  few  days'  labor  spent  in  digging  stones  and  hauling 
gravel,  would  make  this  road  equal  to  a  turnpike,  and 
then  it  would  not  cost  five  dollars  a  year  to  keep  it  in 
repair.  The  teams  would  draw  a  full  load  instead  of 
three-fourths,  and  the  labor  saved  here  could  be  devoted 
to  other  profitable  work  upon  the  farm.  Now  there  are 
thousands  of  miles  of  just  such  miserable  roads  upon  our 
farms,  that  ought  to  receive  immediate  attention.  If  there 
is  any  economy  in  having  a  good  strong  team,  there  is 
still  more  in  having  a  good  smooth  road  to  work  on. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooJc&rtown,  Nov.  13,  1857. 


.  20.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  A  NEW  MANURE. 


MR.  EDITOR. — I  ha'n't  told  you  anything  about  my  car 
rot  crop,  this  year,  and  the  way  I  astonished  the  natives, 
and  myself  about  as  much  as  any  of  them.     It  is  seldom 
that  a  new  idea  gets  into  the  heads  of  the  people  up  here 
3* 


58  THE -TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

in  Hookertown,  but  they  all  declared  they  got  one,  when 
they  come  to  see  my  carrot  crop.  I  guess  I  had  one  my 
self,  but  it  was  not  exactly  the  same  as  my  neighbors'. 

You  know,  last  year  I  told  you  about  the  subsoiling  of 
my  garden,  and  the  lots  of  garden  sauce  I  put  into  my 
cellar,  in  the  fall  of  1856.  That  waked  up  some  folks 
considerable,  and  Seth  Twiggs  in  particular.  One  day, 
last  spring,  he  come  down  to  our  house — pipe  in  mouth, 
as  usual.  Says  he,  "  Esquire  Bunker,  I  am  going  in  for 
some  of  them  premiums,  myself,  this  year,  and  I  calculate 
to  beat  you  on  carrots,  do  your  prettiest." 

"  Dew  tell,"  says  I,  "  and  what  are  you  going  to  manure 
with?" 

"  Pig  manure  and  a  subsile  plow.  You  see  I've  got 
Deacon  Smith  to  subsile  my  garden,  and  I've  got  manure 
enough  to  cover  the  ground  an  inch  thick,  all  over.  You're 
a  gone  coon,  this  time,  Esq.  Bunker,  I  shall  beat  you ;" 
and  the  smoke  rolled  up  in  a  cloud  as  he  walked  off,  the 
picture  of  self-satisfaction. 

Says  I  to  myself,  after  Seth  had  gone,  "a  subsile  plow 
is  not  the  chief  end  of  man.  I'll  try  a  few  tile  drains  and 
a  trenching  spade." 

The  lower  end  of  my  garden,  you  know,  is  bounded  by 
a  ditch,  and  has  always  been  too  wet.  I  got  sole  tile 
enough  to  drain  a  quarter  of  an  acre,  putting  them  down 
three-and-a-half  feet  deep,  and  thirty  feet  apart.  Thinks 
I  to  myself,  "  If  Seth  Twiggs  gets  the  start  of  Tim  Bunker 
on  carrots,  he'll  have  to  manure  with  something  deeper 
than  subsile  plows."  After  the  tile  were  put  down,  I 
could  see  they  were  needed,  because  after  every  rain  that 
came,  they  would  discharge  water  into  the  ditch.  Seth 
thought  he  was  doing  rather  an  extravagant  thing,  sir, 
putting  on  the  manure  an  inch  thick.  It  only  showed 
what  a  fog  his  mind  was  in,  about  manures.  I  had  a 
grand  compost  heap,  that  I  had  been  making  all  winter — 
muck,  night-soil,  soap-suds,  and  a  lot  of  bony  fish — at 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  59 

least  ten  cords,  and  very  strong.  I  had  it  all  worked  into 
that  quarter  of  an  acre  with  the  trenching  spades,  full 
three  feet  deep.  I  then  raked  it  all  over  with  a  steel- 
toothed  garden  rake,  the  teeth  six  inches  long,  making  a 
seed  bed  about  as  soft  as  a  bed  of  down.  I  sowed  the 
carrots  in  drills,  on  the  first  day  of  June.  The  drills  were 
fourteen  inches  apart,  and  I  thinned  them  out  to  eight 
inches  in  the  drill. 

When  I  was  digging  them,  the  week  before  Thanks 
giving,  Deacon  Smith,  Seth  Twiggs,  and  Uncle  Jotham 
Sparrowgrass,  came  along.  The  heaps  were  laying  on 
the  ground,  about  as  thick  as  haycocks,  and  nearly  half 
as  big. 

"  Quite  a  crop,  Esq.  Bunker,"  says  the  Deacon. 

"  Did  you  subsile  this  year  ?"  inquired  Seth,  his  counte 
nance  fallen  and  woe-begone,  as  he  eyed  the  yellow  boys 
lying  around,  many  of  them  plump  thirty  inches  long. 

"  Pray,  what  did  you  manure  with  ?"  inquired  Jotham, 
as  his  eyes  opened  with  astonishment. 

"  With  brains,"  said  I. 

"  Brains !"  exclaimed  Jotham.  "  I  never  heerd  of  that 
manure  afore.  Where  upon  earth  could  you  get  enough 
for  a  load  ?" 

I  could  see  that  the  Deacon  enjoyed  Jotham's  innocence, 
and  there  was  a  sly  twinkle  in  Seth's  eye,  which  showed 
that  the  idea  was  crawling  through  his  wool. 

"  If  you  do  not  believe  me,  gentlemen,  if  you  will  walk 
down  to  the  lower  part  of  the  garden,  I'll  convince  you 
of  the  fact." 

"  There,"  said  I,  pointing  to  the  tile,  which  were  then 
discharging  water  into  the  ditch,  "  I  put  the  brains  of 
ten  thousand  bony  fish  on  top  of  that  piece  of  land,  and 
down  below,  there,  you  see  some  of  my  brains  running 
out." 

Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass  got  a  new  idea  upon  brain 
manure  then,  and  it  is  very  well  disseminated  in  this 


60  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

neighborhood  now.  My  own  new  notion  is,  that  we  have 
a  very  imperfect  idea  of  the  productiveness  of  the  soil, 
when  worked  and  manured  with  brains.  I  measured  up 
403  bushels  of  carrots  from  that  quarter  of  an  acre,  and 
I  expect  to  beat  it  next  year. 

Yours  to  command, 
TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  Esq. 
Hookertown,  Dec.  15,  1857. 


.  21.— TIM   BUNKER    ON  LOSING   THE  PRE 
MIUM  AT  THE  FAIR. 

(WHEREIN  ESQUIRE  B.  GIVES  SOME  BROAD  HINTS  ABOUT 

THE   WAY  PREMIUMS   ARE   NOT  UNFREQUENTLY  AWARDED.) 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  told  you  in  my  last  about  raising  a  car 
rot  crop  with  a  new  kind  of  manure.  I  did  not  tell  you 
how  I  lost  the  premium  on  the  same  crop.  It  is  an  old 
saying,  that  "  merit  wins,"  but  I  think  that  must  have  been 
said  in  times  when  men  were  less  tricky  than  they  are  now. 
I  had  always  thought  that  the  only  thing  necessary  to  get 
a  premium  was  to  raise  the  best  crop  ;  but  I  discovered 
at  our  last  fair  that  there  was  a  mighty  difference  be 
tween  raising  a  premium  crop  and  getting  the  premium 
for  it. 

You  see,  our  County  Fair  was  held  at  Hookertown,  and 
the  competition  in  the  root  crop  was  pretty  sharp.  The 
people  of  that  town  were  up  in  force,  and  I  guess,  if  there 
was  one  load  of  vegetables,  there  was  twenty,  heaped  up 
with  big  cabbage  heads  and  squashes,  long  turnips  and 
beets,  parsneps  and  carrots.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Slocum  was 
up,  and  both  his  deacons,  Fessenden  and  Foster,  and 
Esquire  Jenkins ;  and  all  brought  along  lots  of  garden 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK   PAPERS.  61 

produce.     Smithville  was  well  represented  by  the  Law- 
sons,  the  Tabers,  and  the  Wilcoxes. 

Now,  you  see,  it  so  happened  that  Tom  Wilcox  kept  a 
livery  stable,  and  had  a  mare  that  he  thought  might  take 
a  premium.  He  fed  her  high  for  a  month  beforehand, 
and  got  her  into  first-rate  condition,  and  brought  her  on 
to  the  ground,  without  saying  a  word  to  the  committee, 
or  any  body  else,  that  she  had  the  heaves.  My  neighbor, 
Jake  Frink,  was  chairman  of  the  Judges  on  roadsters, 
and  must  have  known  all  about  Wilcox's  mare,  as  he  sold 
her  to  him  three  years  ago,  and  she  was  unsound  then, 
and  only  brought  seventy  dollars. 

But  Jake  had  an  ax  to  grind,  and  was  mighty  anxious 
to  get  a  premium  on  carrots,  so  as  to  take  the  wind  out  of 
my  sails.  So  he  managed  to  get  Tom  Wilcox  put  down 
among  the  judges  on  vegetables.  Jake  thought  the  thing 
might  be  managed,  and,  sure  enough,  he  did  manage  it 
considerable  slick.  As  soon  as  the  judges  came  on  to  the 
ground,  Jake  —  accidentally,  of  course — met  Tom,  and 
says  he : 

"  Mr.  Wilcox,  you  are  not  a  going  to  enter  that  old 
mare,  are  you  ?  You  know  unsound  horses  are  not  allowed 
to  compete." 

"  Dew  tell,  Mr.  Frink,  you  don't  say  so.  But  look  here, 
Jake,  she  is  as  fat  as  a  porpus,  and  I  have  fed  her  on 
green  stuffs  so  much,  that  she  hasn't  coughed  for  a  week. 
Nobody  '11  know  anything  about  it,  if  you  do  not  tell  'em 
of  it.  Ha'n't  you  got  anything  you  want  a  premium  on  ? 
1  One  good  turn  deserves  another.'  I'm  on  the  committee 
for  garden  sass,  you  know." 

Upon  this,  you  see,  Mr.  Frink  took  Tom  around  among 
the  roots,  and  I  had  the  curiosity  to  keep  within  hearing 
distance. 

"  Good  carrots,"  said  Tom,  "  but  you  see  yourself,  they 
a'n't  so  long  or  smooth  as  old  Bunker's." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Jake,  "  I'll  double  my  hill, 


62  THE   TIM   BTTNKEK   PAPERS. 

to  make  more  of  a  show,  and  you  can  give  the  premium 
on  that." 

I  did  not  hear  any  more  ;  but  I  saw  Jake's  hired  man 
unloading  a  cart  about  an  hour  after ;  and,  I  guess,  if 
Jake's  sample  of  carrots  had  a  half  bushel  in  it,  as  the 
rules  required,  it  had  six. 

Some  of  the  people  opened  their  eyes,  when  it  was  read 
off  at  the  close  of  the  fair : 
First  Premium  on  Roadsters,  Thomas  Wilcox,  of  Smith- 

ville $5.00 

First    Premium   on   Carrots,   Jacob   Frink,   of   Hooker- 
town    $2.00 

Bat,  you  see,  my  eyes  had  been  opened  before.  The 
only  shadow  of  a  claim  these  men  had  for  a  premium 
was,  that  the  one  had  the  fattest  horse,  and  the  other  had 
the  biggest  heap  of  carrots. 

At  the  last  meeting  of  our  Farmers'  Club,  we  had  up 
the  subject  of  root  crops  for  discussion.  Of  course,  each 
man  gave  his  experience,  and  among  others,  Jake  Frink 
gave  the  details  of  his  mode  of  raising  carrots,  for  which 
he  took  a  premium  last  fall. 

When  it  came  my  turn  to  speak,  I  took  occasion  to  con 
gratulate  my  neighbor  on  his  success,  but  was  sorry  that 
he  had  omitted  to  give  one  very  essential  item  in  his 
treatment  of  the  crop,  viz.,  a  large  application  of  horse 
manure. 

Mr.  Frink  looked  very  red  in  the  face,  and  pretty  soon 
had  occasion  to  go  out  and  take  the  air.  Whether  he  is 
troubled  with  apoplexy,  I  could  not  say. 

Now,  Mr.  Editor,  I  think  it  is  high  time,  that  this 
business  of  giving  premiums  at  the  fairs  had  an  over 
hauling.  If  we  can't  have  premiums  awarded  according 
to  the  merits  of  the  case,  one  very  important  end  of  the 
fairs  is  defeated.  People  will  very  soon  lose  their  con 
fidence  in  them,  and  will  not  bring  out  their  products  for 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  63 

exhibition.     I  hope  you  editors,  who  know  how  to  write, 
will  stir  up  your  readers  on  this  subject. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  Jan.  16,  1858. 


No.  22.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  A  NEW  ENTERPRISE. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  never  was  more  astonished  in  my  life, 
than  this  morning,  when  on  my  way  to  mill  down  the 
Shadtown  road.  I  have  been  thinking  a  good  deal  about 
miracles  lately,  and  I  declare  they  aren't  a  bit  more  strange 
than  some  things  I  have  lived  to  see.  Jake  Frink  with  a 
watering  trough  in  his  barn-yard  is  a  poser,  and  if  you 
only  knew  the  man  as  well  as  I  do  you  would  say  so. 
But  that  aint  a  circumstance  to  what  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  now.  You  see,  I  hadn't  got  more  than  a  mile  down 
the  Shadtown  road,  when  I  saw  a  lot  of  men  looking  over 
the  wall.  At  first  I  thought  there  must  be  a  fight,  and 
that  there  would  be  occasion  for  me  to  exercise  my  office 
as  Justice  of  the  Peace.  It  would  be  almost  a  miracle  if 
there  should  be  such  a  thing  in  Hookertown,  for  we  are 
an  uncommonly  peaceable  community. 

As  I  drove  up,  I  saw  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  with 
a  team  and  three  hands,  busy  digging  a  ditch,  and  about 
a  dozen  Hookertown  people  looking  on.  There  was 
Deacon  Smith  and  Seth  Twiggs,  Jake  Frink,  Tucker, 
Dawson,  Tinker,  and  Jones,  and  among  the  rest,  the  min 
ister,  Mr.  Spooner.  It  seems  Uncle  Jotham  had  begun 
the  job  the  day  before,  and  the  thing  had  made  such  a 
sensation,  that  a  pretty  strong  delegation  was  out  to  see 
Jotham  Sparrowgrass  to  work  on  an  improvement. 

There  never  was  a  prettier  chance  in  the  world  to  do  a 


64  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

nice  thing  for  a  bit  of  land.  You  see,  he  had  a  peat 
swamp  of  about  three  acres,  lying  in  a  hollow,  mostly 
cleared  of  brush,  and  with  a  small  pond-hole  in  the  middle. 
The  peat  in  some  places  was  ten  feet  thick,  and  all  the 
edge  of  the  bog  was  wet  and  springy  for  at  least  two 
acres  more.  The  whole  was  worthless  as  it  lay,  except 
for  the  muck  which  it  afforded,  of  which  Uncle  Jotham 
never  used  a  cart  load  in  his  life.  The  bog  lay  high,  and 
by  digging  about  ten  rods,  through  the  rim  of  the  hollow, 
there  was  fall  enough  to  drain  the  whole  swamp,  three 
feet  deep  or  more.  Here  Uncle  Jotham  was  at  work  with 
his  men,  like  so  many  beavers. 

The  main  drain  had  been  cut,  and  one  could  see  how 
these  peat  bogs  had  been  formed.  After  the  stones  and 
surface  mold  had  been  removed,  it  was  a  solid  light-color 
ed  clay,  which  would  hold  water  tight  as  a  basin.  Every 
thing  that  run  into  that  hollow,  and  everything  that  grew, 
had  to  stay  there.  All  the  wood,  brush,  and  mosses,  that 
flourished  there  before  the  country  was  settled,  had  de 
cayed,  and  made  a  vast  bed  of  vegetable  mold.  The 
water,  having  no  chance  to  get  out,  had  operated  as  a 
great  millstone  to  press  it  together  very  solid.  It  had 
now  found  an  outlet  and  was  making  a  straight  wake  to 
ward  the  North  Star,  as  if  seeking  liberty  for  the  first 
time. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,  Squire  Bunker,"  said  Deacon 
Smith. 

"  You  have  got  another  convert  here,"  said  the  min 
ister. 

"  Who  would  have  tho't  it  ?"  exclaimed  Seth  Twiggs, 
as  he  took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  blew  out  a  cloud 
of  smoke,  that  made  one  think  of  a  locomotive. 

"  Old  Bunker  will  make  fools  of  us  all,"  soliloquized 
Jake  Frink,  as  he  thought  of  the  horse-pond  and  the  lead 
pipe  leading  to  his  barn. 

"Good  morning,  Uncle  Jotham,"  said  I.  "  I  thought  you 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  65 

didn't  believe  in  doing  anything  with  muck  swamps,  eh  ? 
What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  Mr.  Bunker,  I've  known  this  'ere  swamp 
for  risin  of  thirty  years,  and  have  raised  corn  near  it  for 
about  the  same  length  of  time ;  and  I  never  had  a  piece 
of  corn  anywhere  in  this  neighborhood  that  wa'n't  badly 
eat  with  the  muskrats.  You  see  the  scoundrels  begin  to 
work  upon  it  early  in  July,  and  they  keep  at  it  until  frost 
comes.  I've  sot  traps  for  'em,  and  shot  'em,  and  done 
every  thing  I  could  think  of  to  kill  'em  off,  and  I  believe 
they  are  thicker  than  ever  this  spring.  So  you  see,  I  was 
riding  by  your  house  last  week,  and  seed  where  that  horse- 
pond  used  to  be,  and  I  got  to  thinking,  and  this  'ere  plan 
came  to  me,  all  at  once,  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  Thinks 
I  to  myself,  I've  got  them  pesky  animals  in  a  tight  place 
at  last.  I'll  dry  'em  up,  and  put  'em  on  the  total  absti 
nence  principle,  be  hanged  if  I  don't.  You  can't  have  a 
drunkard  without  bitters,  nor  a  musk  rat  without  water, 
can  you  ?  And  you  see,  with  one  day's  work  I've  took  the 
water  all  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  pond,  and  I  am 
bound  to  go  three  feet  deeper,  by  the  measure.  Whether 
I  make  anything  out  of  this  bog  or  not,  I'm  bound  to  rid 
the  rest  of  my  farm  of  a  great  enemy." 

It  was  a  grand  sight,  Mr.  Editor,  you  may  depend  upon 
it.  I  don't  know  as  I  bear  any  particular  ill-will  to  the 
tadpoles  and  turtles,  but  somehow  I  kind  o'  like  to  see 
their  confusion,  when  the  water  slopes  off  on  a  sudden, 
and  they  flop  around  in  the  mud,  not  knowing  which  way 
to  emigrate.  They  lay  there  by  the  bushel,  evidently 
very  much  troubled  at  the  daylight.  I  would  go  further 
to  see  such  a  sight,  than  to  see  all  the  menageries  ever  ex 
hibited.  I  have  heard  them  tell  about  the  fine  points  in 
a  painting,  the  contrast  of  colors,  &c.  There  is  no  con 
trast  quite  so  satisfactory  to  my  mind  as  this  light-colored 
clay  on  top  of  a  black  muck  soil.  I  am  always  certain 
of  dark  green  to  shade  it  pretty  early  in  the  season. 


66  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

You  see,  full  one-half  of  Uncle  Jotham's  talk  about  the 
muskrats  is  gammon.  He  don't  like  to  own  that  he  has 
learned  anything  from  me,  or  any  of  his  neighbors.  But, 
you  see,  he  has  already  made  up  his  mind  to  plant  that 
bog  with  potatoes  this  season,  and  substitute  tubers  for 
tadpoles  and  muskrats.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Editor,  that 
horse-pond  movement  has  done  the  business  for  quite  a 
number  of  my  neighbors,  and  is  working  better  than 
physic.  There  are  at  least  four  of  them  started  on  a  new 
track  by  that  enterprise.  Now,  if  you  have  the  least 
spark  of  patriotism,  come  up  and  see  us  Independence  day. 
If  you  expect  to  see  anything  of  the  Hookertown  of  the 
present  generation,  you  must  come  quick,  for  I  tell  you 
now,  this  world  moves,  and  110  mistake.  If  you  don't 
come  and  see  what's  going  on,  we  shall  get  up  a  rebellion , 
we  shall — do  anything  but  stop  the  paper.  That  we  are 
bound  to  have,  whether  you  come  or  not. 
Yours  to  com  man 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown^  June  5,  1858. 

(It  is  put  down  in  our  note-book  to  visit  Hookertown, 
July  4th — if  we  can. — ED.) 


.  23.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  MAKING  TILES. 


MR.  EDITOR. — j.  didn't  like  it  a  bit,  that  you  did  not 
come  out  to  attend  Sally's  wedding.  You  must  know 
that  weddings  do  not  come  every  day  in  a  farm-house,  and 
in  mine  they  come  only  once  in  a  generation,  for  Sally  is 
my  only  daughter.  She  had  got  her  heart  very  much  set 
upon  seeing  you  out  here,  for  she  and  John  have  read  the 
paper  so  much,  that  they  think  you  sort  o'  belong  to  the 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  67 

family.  John  came  back  with  that  young  buck  of  a  re 
porter  you  sent,  quite  crestfallen — declared  he  wouldn't 
have  gone  to  the  depot  if  he  had  known  you  were  going 
to  disappoint  him.  He  says  he  has  made  up  his  mind, 
since  reading  that  account,that  all  the  green  things  in  the 
world  are  not  in  the  country.  Whether  he  means  that  some 
of  the  houses  in  the  city  are  painted  green,  or  the  folks 
in  them  have  that  look,  perhaps  your  reporter  can  tell. 
The  girls,  however,  were  amazingly  tickled  with  the  man's 
description  of  the  Hookertown  women,  and  are  a  good 
deal  provoked  that  you  didn't  publish  the  poetry  and  all. 
They  say  if  you  will  put  in  the  part  that  you  threw  out, 
they  will  pay  double  price  for  it,  as  an  advertisement.  I 
suspect  they  have  a  great  itching  to  know  if  he  said  any 
thing  more  about  them.  You  had  better  keep  him  at 
home  in  future,  if  you  want  him  to  do  any  thing  more 
for  the  paper. 

I  told  you,  awhile  ago,  that  if  you  wanted  to  see  any 
thing  of  the  Hookertown  of  the  present  generation,  you 
should  come  soon.  I  was  a  good  deal  more  of  a  prophet 
than  I  thought  of  at  the  time,  for  the  paper  was  not  dry 
on  which  I  wrote  it,  before  I  heard  that  a  tile  factory  had 
been  started  in  my  own  neighborhood. 

"  Who  would  have  tho't  it  ?"  exclaimed  Seth  Tvviggs, 
as  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  third  pipe,  and  rose  to 
go.  "  Why,  Esq.  Bunker,  that  is  the  strangest  thing  that 
has  happened  in  my  day.  I  should  as  soon  expect  to  hear 
they  were  catching  whale  in  the  Connecticut  River." 

"  And  do  you  think  there  will  be  a  call  for  the  tiles  ?" 
inquired  the  minister,  whose  conservatism  was  a  little 
disturbed  by  the  advent  of  a  tile  factory  in  his  parish. 

"Trust  Miles  Standish  for  that,"  answered  Deacon 
Smith.  "  The  fact  is,  Standish  never  went  into  any 
thing  yet,  that  he  did  not  see  his  way  out  of  it  before  he 
started." 

"  Blamed   if   he  hasn't   got   it   all  ciphered  out,"  said 


68  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

Twiggs.  "  Showed  it  me  'tother  day  when  I  was  up 
there." 

"  And  how  many  does  he  calculate  to  sell  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  the  first  year,  and  half  a  million 
the  second.  Had  the  hundred  thousand  engaged  before 
he  started." 

Miles  Standish,  you  know,  is  a  historic  name,  one  of 
the  first  Puritan  families  that  landed  upon  the  shores  of 
New  England,  and  here  is  the  family,  in  direct  descent 
from  the  first  Miles,  in  the  seventh  generation.  The 
present  Miles  owns  the  ancestral  farm ;  and  on  one  corner 
of  it  is  a  clay  bed,  of  unrivaled  excellence.  It  has  been 
used  for  some  years  as  a  brick-yard,  and  many  a  kiln  has 
been  sent  off  to  the  neighboring  city,  and  down  the  river. 
But  the  reverses  of  last  year  stopped  the  demand  for 
brick,  and  Miles  has  been  in  trouble  ever  since,  until  I 
hinted  to  him  carelessly  last  spring,  that  he  had  better  go 
to  making  tiles,  and  drain  his  farm. 

I  have  since  read  somewhere,  that  this  is  the  way  they 
do  so  much  draining  in  the  old  country.  The  tiles  are 
made  upon  the  farm  where  they  are  to  be  used,  to  a  great 
extent,  and  there  is  very  little  paid  out  for  freight.  The 
owners  of  the  large  estates  there  have  plenty  of  capital 
for  the  purpose,  and  tiles  are  made  and  put  down  by  the 
million.  But  it  will  probably  never  be  the  best  way  with 
us  for  every  man  to  try  to  make  bis  own  tile.  Our  farms 
are  too  small,  and,  as  a  rule,  our  farmers  have  not  the 
necessary  capital,  even  if  they  have  clay  beds.  What  we 
want  is  a  tile  factory  in  every  neighborhood,  or  district 
of  twenty  miles  diameter  or  less  ;  so  that  a  farmer  with 
his  surplus  team  can  cart  tiles  to  his  farm  in  the  leisure 
parts  of  the  year.  He  can,  in  this  way,  make  his  team 
serviceable,  which  would  otherwise  lie  idle.  He  will  not 
feel  the  expense  of  freight  at  all. 

As  matters  now  are,  freight  is  the  great  bugbear  which 
prevents  people  from  going  to  draining.  The  two-inch 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  69 

tile,  which  cost  twelve  dollars  a  thousand  in  Albany,  about 
double  the  first  cost  by  the  time  they  get  where  an  East 
ern  farmer  wants  to  use  them. 

Hearing  of  the  tile  factory  I  went  up  to  see  it  yester 
day,  and  to  have  a  talk  with  Standish  about  it.  I  found 
the  hint  I  dropped  in  half  joke  last  spring  had  fallen  into 
good  soil,  and  was  bearing  good  fruit.  He  had  got  it 
all  ciphered  out,  as  Seth  Twiggs  said. 

Said  he,  "  Esq.  Bunker,  I've  thought  a  heap  on  what 
you  said  about  turning  my  brick-yard  into  a  tile  fac 
tory,  and  you  see  I've  partly  done  it.  The  only  thing 
that  stumbled  me  was,  whether  I  should  have  any  market 
for  the  tile  after  I  got  them  made.  I  looked  over  my 
farm,  and  found  that  I  could  use  at  least  fifty  thousand  in 
draining  some  swales,  and  if  these  worked  well,  I  should 
probably  want  more.  I  went  round  some  into  the  neigh 
boring  towns,  and  found  a  good  many  who  wanted  to  try 
the  experiment,  and  were  willing  to  engage  from  one  to 
ten  thousand  apiece.  I  marketed  a  hundred  thousand. 
You  see  I  had  a  plenty  of  bricks  to  make  a  kiln  of  for 
burning,  and  this  at  the  market  price  for  bricks  cost  me 
about  a  thousand  dollars.  The  iron  machine  for  moulding 
tile  that  you  see  there,  cost  150  dollars,  and  the  drying- 
house  perhaps  800  more.  So  that  any  man  who  owns  a 
brick-yard  with  the  usual  fixtures  for  grinding  clay,  wants 
about  two  thousand  dollars  capital  to  start  the  tile  busi 
ness  with,  on  a  small  scale.  I  can  burn  sixteen  thousand 
tile  in  that  kiln  at  once,  and  it  takes  about  ten  cords  of 
wood  to  do  it.  The  actual  cost  of  moulding,  not  count 
ing  the  clay  anything,  or  the  interest  of  the  money,  is 
about  two  dollars  a  thousand,  and  the  burning,  where  wood 
is  four  dollars  a  cord,  should  not  be  over  five  dollars.  This 
brings  the  actual  cost  of  two-inch  tiles  not  far  from  seven 
dollars  a  thousand.  If  I  can  sell  them  at  twelve  dollars 
a  thousand,  even  though  it  costs  me  something'  to  deliver 
them  at  the  river  landing,  I  can  make  a  handsome  profit. 


70  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

If  the  thing  works  half  as  well  as  you  claim,  there  can't 
fail  to  be  a  better  demand  for  tile  than  there  ever  was  for 
brick." 

This  Hookertown  clay  bed  is  one  of  the  best  you  ever 
saw.  You  work  right  into  a  side  hill,  where  the  clay  is 
fifty  feet  deep,  or  more.  It  lies  in  nice  layers  about  the 
thickness  of  slate,  and  is  entirely  free  from  sand  and 
gravel.  It  makes  a  very  tough  tile.  There  is  clay 
enough  right  here  in  this  valley,  close  to  a  navigable  river, 
to  make  all  the  tiles  the  State  will  ever  want. 

The  first  tile  factory  in  Connecticut  is  a  great  event,  and 
will  work  as  great  changes  among  us  as  the  first  cotton 
factory  did  in  Rhode  Island.  It  will  double  the  products 
of  our  farms  in  less  than  ten  years,  if  the  farmers  will  use 
them.  It  is  wonderful  to  see  the  waking  up  on  this  sub 
ject.  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  speak  in  meeting,  but  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  know  that  Jake  Frink  has 
engaged  five  thousand  tiles,  and  is  going  to  put  them 
down  this  fall.  It  wont  be  a  year  before  Jotham  Spar- 
rowgrass  will  have  them  down  in  his  drained  swamp ;  but 
he  will  never  own  that  he  is  draining  land.  It  will  only 
be  another  contrivance  to  keep  out  the  muskrats  and  the 
tadpoles.  A  very  curis  man  is  Uncle  Jotham. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  August  3d,  1858. 

[REMARKS. — We  are  really  sorry  for  the  disappointment 
felt  by  our  Hookertown  friends,  at  our  failure  to  appear  at 
the  wedding,  but  could  not  help  it  possibly,  under  the 
circumstances.  We  will  do  anything  by  way  of  atone 
ment — attend  Sally's  second  day  wedding,  or  the  next 
wedding  that  comes  off  in  Hookertown,  should  any  of  the 
damsels  see  fit  to  get  up  one  on  our  account.  We  shall 
not  dare  to  send  any  more  reporters. — ED.] 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  71 

No.  24.— TIM  BUNKER  ON   THE   CLERGY   AND 
FARMING. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  supppose  you  and  the  rest  of  the  folks 
have  wondered  some  about  Sally's  marrying  a  minister. 
It  does  look  a  little  queer,  at  first  sight,  that  a  smart, 
handy  young  woman,  that  knows  all  about  the  duties  of 
the  dairy  and  the  kitchen,  and  takes  premiums  at  the  fairs, 
on  bread  and  butter,  should  want  to  settle  in  a  village. 
It  is  perhaps  just  as  queer' that  the  smartest  preacher  in 
the  county  should  want  to  marry  a  farmer's  daughter. 
But  wedlock  is  an  unaccountable  affair  any  way  you  can 
fix  it,  and  the  particular  attraction,  I  suppose,  is  in  most 
cases  as  great  a  mystery  to  the  interested  parties  as  to 
people  outside. 

But  this  match,  it  strikes  me,  is  not  so  much  "  out  of 
sorts"  as  matches  in  general.  Josiah  Slocum,  I  guess, 
knows  on  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered.  It  strikes  my 
neighbors  variously  according  to  their  characters.  Uncle 
Jotham  Sparrowgrass  dropped  in  the  week  after  the  wed 
ding,  and  says  he : 

"What  a  fool  you  have  made  of  yourself,  marrying 
your  darter  off  to  that  Shadtown  parson !" 

"  A  thousand  pities,  she  was  so  smart !"  chimed  in  Seth 
Twiggs,  as  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  look 
ed  across  the  room  to  Sally's  mother,  who  was  busy  with 
the  needle. 

"  Why,  what  makes  you  think  so  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Bun 
ker,  lifting  the  gold-bowed  spectacles,  given  her  by  Josiah 
on  her  fiftieth  birthday. 

"  Why,"  said  Uncle  Jotham,  "  did  you  ever  know  a 
bookish  man  that  wa'n't  lazy,  and  always  running  into  all 
sorts  of  nonsense  ?  And  the  clargy  are  ginerally  the  most 
moonshiny  of  all  bookish  people.  There  was  Parson  Tyler, 


72  THE   TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

of  Mill  Valley,  over  on  the  Island,  when  I  was  a  boy,  that 
put  up  a  wind-mill  on  top  of  his  corn  crib,  to  turn  the 
grindstone,  churn  butter,  and  chop  the  sassage  meat,  and 
do  all  kinds  of  things." 

"  Yes,  and  it  worked  mighty  well,  too,"  said  Seth,  who 
by  this  time  had  got  his  pipe  charged  again. 

"  And  where  was  the  folly  of  using  wind  power  instead 
of  elbow  grease  ?"  I  asked. 

"  It  is  a  fact,  the  thing  worked  well,  and  saved  a  heap 
of  labor,  but  it  always  looked  like  laziness  to  see  a  man 
set  still,  while  the  wind  turned  his  grindstone." 

"  And  the  whole  neighborhood  came  in  there  to  grind 
their  axes  rainy  days,  as  I  remember,"  said  Seth. 

"How  long  since  you  have  been  to  meetin,  Uncle  Jo- 
tham,  that  you  have  got  such  notions  of  ministers?"  in 
quired  Mrs.  Bunker,  rather  sharply. 

Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  sinner  that  he  is,  had  not  been 
inside  of  a  meetin-house,  on  Sunday,  in  twenty  years,  and 
it  must  be  confessed  was  a  little  more  offish  toward  min 
isters  than  he  ever  was  toward  book  farming,  and  that 
is  a  pretty  strong  statement. 

"  That  is  the  way  with  you  wimmin  folks,"  responded 
Uncle  Jotham,  "  always  twittin  a  feller  upon  facts." 

"  Sally  might  have  done  better  "  said  Twiggs,  as  he  tip 
ped  back  his  chair  and  puffed  away.  "  You  see  she  ought 
to  have  been  a  farmer's  wife,  she  was  so  knowing  about 
every  thing  indoors  from  garret  to  cellar." 

"  And  she  might  have  done  a  great  deal  worse,"  said  Mrs. 
Bunker,  who  by  this  time  had  laid  aside  the  sewing  to 
take  the  young  folks'  case  in  hand.  "It  don't  follow  at 
all  that  Sally  wont  have  any  use  for  her  training  in  the 
milk  room  and  the  kitchen,  because  she  has  gone  to  live  in 
a  parsonage.  A  girl  that  has  been  brought  up  to  keep 
everything  straight  in  the  house,  as  well  as  to  be  a  lady 
in  the  parlor,  makes  a  good  wife  in  any  calling.  I  am 
quite  sartain  that  her  talents  wont  be  buried  in  a  napkin 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  73 

down  in  Shadtown ;  for  the  parsonage  has  ten  acres  of 
land  with  it,  and  Josiah  is  going  to  keep  three  cows  and 
a  horse,  and  grow  stuff  enough  on  the  land  to  feed  them 
and  his  family.  His  people  say  that  he  is  not  afraid  of  the 
plow  tail,  or  the  hoe  handle ;  that  he  gets  more  stuff  off 
of  his  ten  acres,  than  many  of  them  are  able  to  get  from 
their  farms  ;  that  he  is  great  on  sermons,  and  just  as  great 
on  cabbage,  and  it  is  difficult  to  tell  whether  he  is  a  better 
farmer  or  minister ;  and  his  wife  and  the  young  folks  are 
pleased  with  each  other,  and  as  long  as  the  parties  most 
consarned  are  suited,  I  don't  see  why  other  folks  need  to 
trouble  themselves  about  it." 

Mrs.  Bunker  resumed  her  spectacles  and  sewing,  after 
freeing  her  mind,  and  Uncle  Jotham  found  it  convenient 
to  leave  on  important  business.  Seth  apologized  hand 
somely,  didn't  mean  any  harm,  and  after  finishing  his  pipe 
retired. 

You  see,  a  great  many  people  have  got  very  narrow 
views  about  their  neighbors  in  general,  and  ministers  in 
particular.  They  think  no  man  can  be  more  than  one 
thing  at  a  time,  because  they  themselves  have  never  done 
but  one  thing,  and  have  not  done  that  very  well.  If  a 
man  is  good  with  a  lapstone  and  an  awl,  they  think  he 
must  be  a  poor  hand  with  a  hoe  and  a  scythe.  But  I  have 
traveled  enough  in  Massachusetts  to  know  that  some  of 
the  best  farmers  and  gardeners  in  that  State  are  shoe 
makers,  for  a  good  part  of  the  year.  They  have  extra 
brains  enough  to  plan  farm  work  while  they  are  driving 
the  pegs,  and  keep  two  or  three  hands  busy  out  doors 
while  they  have  a  shop  full  of  hands.  I  have  pretty  much 
made  up  my  mind,  that  that  old  saw  about  "  sticking  to 
the  last "  wants  a  new  interpretation.  If  a  man  only 
sticks  to  the  last,  he  may  as  well  stick  to  two  or  three 
other  things  at  the  same  time.  The  sticking  to  a  thing 
is  a  matter  of  a  good  deal  more  importance  than  having 
only  one  thing  to  stick  to.  I  take  it,  that  brains  are  given 


74  THE    TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS. 

to  us  in  order  to  be  used,  and  that  if  a  man  will  only  use 
them,  he  can  do  about  as  much  as  he  wants  to. 

Folks  especially  think  that  a  bookish  man  can  not  know 
any  thing  about  practical  matters,  and  that  a  minister  is  as 
likely  to  ride  a  horse  with  his  face  toward  the  tail,  as  any 
way.  I  am  afraid  that  such  people  do  not  go  to  meeting 
as  much  as  they  ought  to,  and  that  they  do  not  know 
enough  about  how  ministers  live.  If  there  is  any  class  of 
people  that  are  not  in  danger  of  rusting  out,  that  have  a 
plenty  to  do  indoors  and  out,  and  know  how  to  do  it  in 
the  best  way,  I  am  sure  they'll  be  found  among  the  clergy 
in  this  State. 

And  it  has  always  been  so  in  this  region,  from  the  first 
settlement  of  the  country.  In  the  country  parishes,  they 
thought  they  had  not  done  the  clean  thing  by  the  minister, 
until  they  had  provided  a  small  farm  for  him,  and  made  it 
a  part  of  the  settlement.  Shrewd  men,  those  first  settlers 
of  Connecticut  were.  They  knew  that  a  man  with  his  wits 
sharpened  in  college  would  beat  them  all  hollow  at  farm 
ing,  if  they  gave  him  any  thing  like  a  fair  chance.  They 
put  them  on  small  farms  and  small  salaries,  to  keep  them 
within  bounds,  and  even  then,  they  generally  beat  their 
parishioners,  and  raised  the  best  crops,  and  brought  up  the 
likeliest  families  in  their  parishes.  Only  two  per  cent  of 
their  children  turn  out  poorly,  and  if  that  don't  vindicate 
their  claim  to  good  management  and  a  fair  share  of  com 
mon  sense,  then  I  am  mistaken. 

And  I  guess  they  haven't  degenerated  much  in  the 
present  day.  There  is  no  set  of  men  in  the  State  that 
take  any  more  interest  in  farming,  and  raising  fruit  than 
the  ministers.  They  take  hold  of  the  societies,  give  ad 
dresses,  and  talk  about  as  much  to  the  point,  as  any  ora 
tors  we  get  on  such  occasions.  And  this  is  all  orthodox 
doings  out  here,  and  I  think  they  preach  all  the  better  for 
stirring  around  among  folks,  and  knowing  what  they  are 
thinking  about.  They  were  men  before  they  began  to 


THE  TIM  BUNKER  PAPERS.  75 

preach,  and  I  take  it,  there  is  no  particular  sin  in  their 
being  men  afterwards.  At  any  rate  they  do  common 
mortals  a  great  deal  of  good,  for  entering  into  their  labors 
and  sympathies. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  Sept.  4,  1858. 

[A  little  allowance  might  be  made  for  Squire  Bunker's 
enthusiastic  defense  of  the  clergy,  since  his  only  daughter, 
Sally,  has  just  been  married  to  one  of  them,  but  with  or 
without  this  allowance,  we  think  the  Squire  brings  out 
about  the  truth  of  the  matter. — ED.] 


NO.    25.  — TIM     BUNKER   ON   WOMEN    FOLKS 
AND  HORSE  RACING. 


HOOKERTOWN    SCANDALIZED. 

MR.  EDITOR  : — You  never  did  see  such  exciting  times 
as  we  have  had  up  here  at  the  County  Fair.  It  has  been 
the  town  talk  ever  since.  Who  would  'a  thought  it,  that 
we  should  have  a  horse  race  in  Hookertown,  and  a  woman 
horse  race,  too  !  It  is  enough  to  make  a  man  sick  at  the 
stomach  to  see  what  women  folks  are  coming  to.  I  thought 
it  was  bad  enough  when  my  John  got  caught  down  to 
Boston,  two  years  ago,  at  one  of  those  "  fair  "  races,  called 
an  Agricultural  Association.  I  never  thought  the  business 
was  coming  home  so  quick. 

But  I'll  tell  you  just  how  it  happened,  and  you'll  see 
that  the  Hookertown  people  are  not  so  much  to  blame 
as  they  might  be.  You  see,  last  winter,  the  members  of 


76  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

the  county  agricultural  society  had  to  choose  new  officers. 
Dea.  Smith  had  been  president  for  some  time,  and  wanted 
somebody  else  put  in.  So  they  chose  Colonel  La  wson,  up 
to  Smithville,  and  most  of  the  managers  were  up  in  that 
neighborhood.  The  Colonel  is  a  smart  fellow,  but  ha'n't 
no  more  respect  for  public  morals  than  a  cow  has  for  a 
milking  stool.  He  goes  in  for  making  money  by  the  short 
est  cut  possible,  keeps  tavern,  farms  considerable,  trades 
cattle,  jockeys  horses,  and,  they  do  say,  attends  the  races 
in  the  neighborhood  of  your  city,  and  has  brought  home 
considerable  money  that  he  don't  like  to  tell  exactly  how 
he  came  by.  What  in  the  world  folks  were  thinking  of, 
when  they  put  him  into  office,  I  don't  see. 

But  they  put  him  in,  and  the  Colonel  being  a  military 
character,  and  famous  for  riding  a  horse  well  on  a  general 
review  day,  was  bound  to  make  a  sensation,  and  throw 
Deacon  Smith's  administration  all  into  the  shade.  There 
was  folks  enough  up  in  Smithville,  just  like  him,  that  had 
just  as  lieves  scandalize  our  place  as  not.  You  see,  Smith 
ville  is  a  sort  of  Nazareth  up  here,  in  the  land  of  steady 
habits,  was  settled  in  the  beginning  by  the  fag  end  of 
creation,  and  has  always  drawn  that  kind  of  people  since. 
If  a  man  got  broken  down  in  character,  idle,  or  dissipated, 
he  was  pretty  sure  to  fetch  up  in  Smithville  or  vicinity. 
There  he  found  congenial  company,  and  could  race  horses, 
Sunday,  to  his  heart's  content.  It  is  not  until  within  ten 
years  that  they  have  had  any  meeting  up  there,  and  though 
they  are  somewhat  reformed,  the  old  odor  sticks  to  them 
like  pitch. 

The  great  trouble  with  the  Colonel  was  to  find  any  de 
cent  woman  that  would  put  herself  on  exhibition  before 
five  thousand  people,  and  make  a  fool  of  herself.  He  tried 
all  the  towns  around,  and  everybody  told  him  it  would 
not  do  in  Connecticut ;  that  our  young  women  were  well 
educated  and  modest,  and  knew  what  belonged  to  their 
rights  and  to  their  sex  as  well  as  a  militia  colonel  could 


A  FEMALE  EQUESTKIAN  PEKFORMANCE."  Page  77. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  77 

tell  them.  We  all  thought  he  had  given  it  up  as  a  bad 
job. 

But  it  seems  the  creature  went  home,  and  persuaded  his 
oldest  girl  to  show  off  on  horseback.  You  see,  Tom  Wil- 
cox,  the  same  fellow  that  took  the  premium  last  year  on 
a  horse  with  the  heaves,  had  a  young  horse  that  he  wanted 
to  sell  for  a  big  price.  His  daughter,  Matilda  Wilcox, 
offered  to  ride,  if  Tom  would  get  her  a  new  silk  dress  and 
a  new  bonnet  with  feathers — and  get  Letitia  Lawson  to 
ride  in  company  with  her.  Nobody  knew  anything  about 
it  out  of  Smithville  until  all  the  arrangements  were  made, 
and  the  handbills  were  out,  announcing  "  a  grand  female 
equestrian  performance,"  to  come  off  at  Hookertown  on 
the  last  day  of  the  fair. 

It  made  a  sensation  in  these  parts,  you  may  depend. 
Every  grog-shop  in  Smithville  was  emptied  to  the  dregs, 
and  I  guess  every  gambler  and  blackleg  in  the  County 
was  on  hand  to  see  "  Tish  Lawson  and  Till  Wilcox  have  a 
set-to,"  Every  negro  fiddler  and  ragamuffin  in  the  neigh 
borhood  was  drawn  out  to  see  the  fun.  There  was  a 
chance  for  betting,  and  a  good  deal  of  money  changed 
hands  on  the  occasion.  I  pitied  the  poor  girls  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  and  I  guess  if  they  could  hear  the 
coarse,  brutal  remarks  made  by  the  crowd,  they  would 
never  be  caught  in  such  a  scrape  again. 

"  A  most  scandalyous  affair,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he 
stopped  into  our  house  next  morning,  the  smoke  rolling 
up  in  a  cloud  of  excitement.  "  It  beats  the  Dutch,  Esq. 
Bunker.  I  wouldn't  have  my  darter  make  a  show  of  her 
self  so  for  all  outdoors." 

"  The  thing  is  agin  natur,"  responded  Mrs.  Bunker. 
"  But  it  is  just  what  their  fathers  might  expect  from  their 
bringing  up.  They  make  tomboys  of  all  their  girls  in 
Smithville." 

You  see,  these  girls,  and  Tom  Wilcox's  horse,  that  won 
the  race,  are  the  County  talk,  and  will  be  for  a  month. 


78  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

The  grand  object  of  the  fair  was  lost  sight  of,  and  I  don't 
suppose  one  person  in  ten  took  any  notice  of  the  fruit  and 
vegetables  that  were  on  exhibition.  They  did  not  care  a 
cent  for  porkers  or  calves.  They  had  paid  their  quarter, 
"  to  see  them  galls  run  the  hosses,"  and  Tom  Wilcox's 
horse  was  "  the  elephant  of  the  day."  I  never  heard  so 
much  swearing  and  blackguardism  in  all  the  fairs  lever  at 
tended.  It  was  "  cuss  and  discuss,"  as  Deacon  Smith  said, 
from  the  beginning  of  the  race  to  the  end. 

I  rather  think  the  scrape  will  do  us  good  on  the  whole. 
There  are  some  evils  that  cure  themselves.  Every  decent 
man  and  woman  that  I  have  seen  since  is  disgusted,  and  I 
guess  the  annual  meeting  of  the  County  Society  will  be 
better  attended  next  January,  and  Colonel  Lawson  will 
have  liberty  to  attend  to  his  military  duties  unmolested. 
We  have  seen  enough  of  women  folks  riding  at  the  fair. 

It  is  all  well  enough  for  girls  to  learn  to  ride  on  horse 
back  at  home,  or  in  a  riding  school,  but  it  is  agin  natur 
for  a  woman  to  make  a  "  show  "  of  herself,  any  way.  The 
business  is  just  putting  up  a  woman's  modesty  at  auction, 
and  it  is  because  the  thing  is  unwomanly  that  it  draws 
such  a  crowd  of  low,  indecent  people  to  see  it.  Sure,  it 
makes  large  receipts  for  a  single  fair ;  but  the  next  time  a 
good  many  respectable  folks  won't  come.  They  don't 
wrant  the  modern  Camillas  held  up  before  their  families  as 
models  of  female  character.  The  whole  is  out  of  character, 
and  demoralizing,  and  they  won't  support  the  Society,  if 
the  thing  is  kept  up.  It  is  clap-trap  and  humbug—a  kind 
of  chaff  that  don't  catch  old  birds  but  once.  It  is  a  sneak 
ing  way  of  getting  up  a  horse  race,  and  imposing  it  upon 
a  decent  community.  Let  every  tub  stand  upon  its  own 
bottom,  and  when  it  has  none,  let  it  cave  in. 
Yours  agin  horse  racing  in  general 

and  women  racing  in  particular, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  October  1st,  1858. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  79 

NO.  26.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  BEGINNING  LIFE. 

A  PEEP  AT  THE  SHADTOWN  PARSONAGE. 

MR.  EDITOR  : — It  is  well  that  you  are  a  good  hundred 
miles  out  of  Hookertown  about  these  times.  Since  that 
picture  on  "  gal  horse-racin "  come  out,  there  has  been  a 
good  deal  of  talk — and  some  swearing  or  more.  Up  in 
Smithville,  I  guess  there  has  been  more.  I  was  up  there 
last  week,  and  fell  in  with  Colonel  Lawson,  who  got  up  the 
race.  He  come  up  to  me  in  the  street,  looking  as  red  in 
the  face  as  a  beet,  and  about  as  mad  as  a  March  hare,  and 
says  he, 

"  Old  Bunker,  did  you  write  that  mess  of  stuff  in  the 
paper  about  the  Fair  ?" 

"  I  did ;  them's  my  sentiments,  and  I  can't  back  down 
on  'em  any  where." 

"  Wai,  who  got  up  that  picter  on  the  gals  with  their 
bonnets  off,  and  myself  holding  the  stakes  ?  The  piece 
was  bad  enough,  but  that  picter  was  all-fired  mean,  and 
immodest.  It  wa'n't  fit  to  be  decent.  I  shall  prosecute 
the  publisher  for  libel." 

"  Libel,  man !  Why,  wasn't  the  picter  a  true  bill,  accord 
ing  to  facts  ?" 

"  A  true  bill !  That's  what  I  have  to  complain  on.  It 
was  altogether  too  natural.  There's  Wilcox's  gal,  with 
her  bonnet  flyin,  feathers  and  all,  and  a  feller  with  his 
pocket-book  out,  that  they  say  was  meant  for  me.  I  can't 
go  any  where  among  decent  folks,  but  what  they  are  stick 
ing  Judd  into  my  face,  and  inquiring  with  a  smothered 
sort  of  grin,  "  Wall,  Colonel,  have  you  seen  the  last  Agri 
culturist  ?"  I'm  gettin'  tired  on't,  and  if  there's  any  law 
in  the  univarse  I'm  bound  to  prosecute." 

"  Keep  cool,  keep  cool,  Colonel.     The  least  said  is  soon- 


80  THE   TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

est  mended.  Folks  that  put  their  daughters  up  for  a 
show  have  no  right  to  complain  if  they  are  showed  up. 
Folks  whose  pocket-books  are  emptied  shouldn't  go  to 
law.  Good  morning,  Colonel." 

They  say  he  lost  a  thousand  dollars  in  bets  at  the  Fair, 
and  I  guess  you  are  about  as  much  in  danger  of  being 
prosecuted  as  you  are  of  getting  into  the  poor-house  by 
publishing  the  paper.  I  am  sorry  for  the  girls  that  have 
made  such  a  beginning  of  life.  Caught  by  the  tinsel  of 
silk  dresses  and  bonnets,  they  were  drawn  into  a  false  po 
sition,  that  will  very  much  damage  their  prospects  for  life. 

And  this,  perhaps,  is  as  common  a  failing  among  farm 
ers  as  it  is  among  city  people.  They  begin  life  wrong, 
and  start  in  business  on  a  bigger  scale  than  they  can  hold 
out.  They  buy  a  big  farm,  generally  twice  as  much  as 
they  can  pay  for,  and  then  they  are  always  short  on't  for 
capital  to  work  it  with.  It  is  pretty  much  like  Deacon 
Smith's  singing  at  the  evening  meetings ;  he  pitches  his 
tune  so  high  at  the  outset  that  his  voice  breaks  into  a 
screech  before  he  gets  through,  and  nobody  can  follow 
him.  His  wind  is  all  used  up  before  the  psalm  is  half 
sung.  The  farmer,  instead  of  getting  good,  serviceable 
cattle,  will  often  buy  fancy  animals,  at  a  high  price, — a 
yoke  of  cattle  for  two  hundred  dollars,  and  a  fast  horse  for 
three  or  four  hundred.  He  don't  stop  to  think  how  he's 
coming  out. 

And  then  if  his  wife  begins  in  the  house  in  the  same 
way,  it  makes  a  mighty  uncomfortable  concern.  There 
was  Tom  Spalding  and  his  wife  began  to  keep  house  about 
the  time  I  did.  Tom  was  a  little  fast,  and  his  wife  was  a 
little  faster.  She  was  handsome,  fond  of  company,  and 
must  dress  and  live  in  tip  top  farmer's  style.  The  farm 
Tom  bought  had  an  old  house  on  it,  but  'twas  comfort 
able,  and  would  have  lasted  ten  years  without  laying  out 
a  dollar  on  it.  But  she  must  have  it  fixed  up,  inside  and 
out,  before  they  moved  in.  So  Tom  put  on  an  addition, 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPEKS.  81 

and  new  clap-boarded,  and  painted,  and  papered,  and  hard 
finished,  and  by  the  time  he  got  through,  it  about  finished 
him.  She  must  have  extravagant  carpets  and  furniture, 
and  a  fine  carriage  to  ride  in,  and  everything  to  match  the 
fine  house. 

When  Tom  got  through  with  his  fitting  out,  he  found 
himself  fifteen  hundred  dollars  in  debt.  The  farm  was  a 
good  one,  and  produced  grand  crops,  but  with  all  he  could 
do,  the  balance  was  on  the  wrong  side  at  the  close  of  every 
year,  and  at  the  end  of  a  dozen  years  they  had  to  sell  out 
and  emigrate.  You  see,  the  silk  dresses  and  other  women 
fixin'  kept  him  in  debt,  and  he  had  no  chance  to  buy  more 
stock,  when  he  needed  it,  or  to  hire  as  much  labor  as  he 
really  needed,  to  carry  on  the  farm  to  advantage.  It  is 
of  no  use  to  begin  life  in  this  way.  If  he  had  lived  in  the 
old  house  a  few  years,  and  waited  for  the  finery  until  he 
had  the  cash  in  his  pocket  to  pay  for  it,  he  might  have 
been  in  Hookertown  to  this  day,  and  as  thriving  a  man  as 
there  is  in  it.  "  Pay  as  you  go  "  is  the  true  principle  for 
everything  that  isn't  necessary.  A  man  may  incur  debt 
for  a  part  of  his  land  or  stock,  or  for  the  tools  of  his  trade. 
But  he  might  as  well  go  to  the  poor-house  as  to  run  in 
debt  for  fine  clothes  and  a  splendid  house.  Better  sleep 
on  a  pine  bedstead,  till  you  are  able  to  pay  for  mahogany. 

I  have  talked  this  doctrine  over  so  much  in  my  family, 
that  I  guess  the  children  have  got  it  all  by  heart.  Sally 
has,  I  am  certain.  I  suppose  your  readers  would  like  to 
hear  how  she  is  getting  on,  over  to  the  parsonage.  Most 
stories  end  with  the  wedding,  as  if  folks  were  of  no  con 
sequence  at  all,  after  they  got  married.  But  as  I  am  only 
writing  a  statement  of  facts,  about  things  in  the  land  of 
steady  habits,  you  must  expect  to  hear  of  people  after  the 
honeymoon. 

I  felt  bound  to  give  Josiah  and  Sally  a  good  setting  out, 
for  folks  in  their  circumstances.     There  is  some  parsonage 
land,  that  Josiah  knows  how  to  make  use  of,  and  they  have 
4* 


82  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPEES. 

to  live  among  farmers,  and  in  plain  farmer  style.  Now  I 
hold,  that  a  minister  is  bound  to  be  an  example  to  the 
flock,  in  his  style  of  living,  as  well  as  in  his  morals,  and  in 
his  religious  duties.  I  have  noticed,  time  and  again,  that 
example  was  a  grand  thing  to  put  the  nub  on  to  a  sermon.  If 
a  man  preaches  from  the  text,  "  Owe  no  man  anything," 
and  drives  a  fast  horse  that  he  hasn't  paid  for,  somehow 
the  two  things  don't  seem  to  hitch  together.  I  have  known 
extravagant  living  to  drive  some  ministers  from  their  par 
ishes.  They  got  in  debt,  got  discontented  and  soured, 
and  were  "  not  content  with  such  things  as  they  had," 
until  they  were  able  to  get  better.  I  didn't  want  any 
such  trouble  in  Shadtown,  and  I  knew  a  good  deal  de 
pended  upon  beginning  right.  I  gave  Sally  a  piano,  but  I 
sent  along  a  churn  with  it,  to  remind  her  that  the  cream 
of  life  was  not  all  music.  There  was  a  lot  of  cane-bottom 
and  mahogany  chairs,  but  John  slipped  in  a  couple  of 
milking  stools,  of  his  own  make,  as  a  sort  of  hint,  I  sup 
pose,  that  all  the  sitting  was  not  to  be  done  in  the  parlor. 
On  top  of  the  dresses  in  the  trunk,  I  noticed  a  pair  of 
checked  aprons.  I  guess  Mrs.  Bunker  knew  where  they 
came  from.  I  had  to  get  a  new  carriage  for  Sally's  Black 
Hawk  horse,  but  I  sent  down  the  next  day  a  horse  cart, 
with  a  lot  of  farm  and  garden  tools,  as  a  sort  of  insinuatien 
that  horse-flesh  would  sometimes  be  needed  out  of  the 
carriage.  The  useful  was  pretty  well  mixed  up  with  the 
sweet,  in-doors  and  out.  From  all  I  can  learn,  the  people 
are  pretty  well  suited  with  the  young  folks,  and  with  the 
arrangements  I  have  made  for  them.  They  haven't  got 
anything  but  what  they  can  afford,  and  nothing  that  they 
do'nt  want  to  use,  and  that,  I  take  it,  is  about  the  whole 
pith  of  beginning  life  right. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  Nov.  15th,  1858. 


THE   TIM   BUNKEE   PAPERS.  83 

No.  27.— AN    APOLOGY    FOR    TIM    BUNKER. 

LETTER   FROM    JAKE    FEINK. 

ME.  EDITUE  : — Square  Bunker  went  by  our  house  this 
mornin  jest  arter  sunrise  on  his  way  to  the  deepo.  He  sed 
he  hadn't  a  bit  of  time  to  write,  but  he'd  like  to  have  me 
tell  you,  that  he  had  been  called  out  o'  town,  suddently 
on  bizziness,  and  shouldn't  be  back  in  sum  weeks.  He 
axed  me  to  write  in  his  place  this  time,  and  I  deklare  I 
never  felt  so  kuris  in  my  life — I  han't  got  much  ederkashun, 
and  never  had,  and  I  couldn't  help^thiiikin'  the  Square  was 
krackin  one  of  his  dry  jokes  on  me,  when  he  put  me  up  to 
sich  a  thing — guess  he'd  be  more  astonished  than  the  next 
man,  if  you  should  take  it  into  yer  head  to  print  this  ere 
riting.  But  you  jest  du  it,  and  I'll  give  you  a  dollar  out 
of  my  own  pocket,  for  the  sake  of  gitting  the  start  on  the 
Square  for  oncet.  He  is  a  hard  man  to  beet  i  know,  but 
Hookertown  is  a  great  country — and  there  is  sum  more 
peeple  in  it  than  you  have  heerd  on.  Them  karrots,  that 
Tim  Bunker  's  allers  runnin  me  on,  I  wa'n't  so  much  to 
blame  about — I'd  like  to  have  my  sa  on  that  subjeckt.  Ye 
see,  I  knew  mi  man  jest  as  well  as  the  Square  did,  and  a 
leetle  better.  I  allers  understood  trade,  better  than  farm- 
in,  and  I  knew  i  culd  git  the  premium  by  a  leetle  kalkula- 
shun.  Now  kalkulashun  I  hold  to  be  the  cheef  eend  of 
man,  that  which  distinguishes  him  above  all  kattle-kind, 
and  so  i  used  it  in  the  kase  of  the  karrots  and  carried  my 
pint. 

Sum  folks  perhaps  thinks,  that  all  Square  Bunker  rites 
abeout  is  made  up  eout  of  his  hed,  kind  o'  iiovil  fashun. 
I  tell  you  it's  a  mistake.  The  hull  on't  is  a  rekord  of  fax, 
and  pretty  much  as  they  happened,  so  that  up  heer  in 
Hookertown  they  look  for  the  Square's  letter  in  yeur  pa 
per,  to  see  what  has  happened.  That  story  abouft  the  hoss- 


84  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

pond  is  all  true  as  preachin,  and  a  great  deel  truer  than 
sum  on't,  i  guess.  The  bottom  is  all  dry  neow,  and  the 
lot  is  abeout  the  best  one  on  the  farm.  That  tile  bridge 
was  a  kuris  notion,  and  I  must  own  beet  on  it.  I  might 
have  thunk,  and  thunk,  forever,  and  i  should  never  have 
thunk  that  eout — but  the  watter  rushes  threw  there,  as  if 
it  had  been  shot  eout  of  a  kannon.  I  dew  declare  I  bleeve 
he  greesed  the  plank,  it  goes  so  slick. 

I  don't  kno  what  the  Square  has  gone  off  fur — but  I 
guess  its  to  bi  kattle.  Kattle  have  been  mighty  low  all 
the  fall,  and  the  Square  has  plenty  of  hay,  and  fodder, 
and  makes  a  considerable  bizziness  of  fattin  kattle  in  the 
winter,  tho'  he  han't  sed  any  thing  on  that  pint  yit  in  the 
paper.  Indeed  he  han't  told  half  he  kno's,  and  i  spect  he 
wont  if  he  rites  a  dozen  years.  I  guess  hee'l  git  a  new 
idee  when  he  sees  this  in  print.  I  never  had  a  letter 
printed,  and  indeed,  folks  in  gineral  have  never  dun  much 
for  me,  but  Jake  Frink  is  a  man  of  his  wurd,  and  will  pay, 
if  you'll  put  it  in. 

Yourn  furever 

JACOB  FRINK. 

Hoolcertown,  Dec.  30th,  1858. 


NO.  28.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  COUNTY  FAIRS. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — Jake  Frink  is  a  fool,  as  you  might  know 
by  his  letter.  You  see  I  was  a  joking  him  about  the  in 
terest  he  and  his  neighbors  have  got  to  taking  about  my 
affairs,  since  I  begun  to  lay  tile  and  write  for  the  paper. 
I  can't  stir,  even  early  in  the  morning,  but  Jake'll  poke 
his  head  out  the  window,  nightcap  and  all,  and  want  to 


THE   TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS.  85 

know  "  where  upon  airth  I'm  gwine  to  neow,"  just  as  if  I 
had  never  been  off  my  farm  before.  But  the  thick-headed 
creatur  never  see  the  drift  of  my  remark  about  sending  an 
apology,  and  went  and  wrote  that  letter.  Everybody  that 
knows  me  knows  well  enough  that  I  seldom  do  anything  to 
my  neighbors  that  I  have  to  apologize  for,  and  when  I  do  I 
am  apt  to  make  it  in  person.  Jake's  letter  looks  curis  up 
here,  and  I  shan't  hear  the  last  of  it  in  a  year.  All  I  have 
to  say  is  that  I'm  glad  it  set  him  to  thinking.  Folks  had 
better  be  thinking  of  something,  even  if  they  don't  think 
straight,  than  to  be  as  stupid  as  dolts.  Jake  may  make 
something  yet  if  he  keeps  thinking. 

I  went  up  that  morning  to  the  city  to  attend  the  annual 
meeting  of  our  County  Agricultural  Society.  You  see, 
last  year,  they  put  in  the  Colonel  president,  and  all  the 
screws  got  loose,  and  we  had  that  fuss  of  a  "gal  hoss 
race,"  as  the  boys  used  to  call  it.  Now  I  have  nothing 
to  say  agin  womankind  in  general,  or  the  girls  in  par 
ticular  ;  but  it  does  seem  as  if,  when  you  got  a  woman  out 
of  her  place,  she  made  a  good  deal  more  of  a  smash-up 
than  a  man.  Everything  goes  wrong.  It  is  just  like 
breaking  down  the  hub  of  your  cart  wheel,  when  the  frost . 
is  coming  out  of  the  ground  in  the  spring.  It  is  a  mighty 
dirty  job,  and  business  has  got  to  stop. 

It  was  pretty  much  so  with  our  County  Society  after  the 
fair.  It  made  a  great  deal  of  talk.  Some  very  sensible 
men  got  disgusted,  and  declared  they  never  would  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  Society  agin,  because  it  counte 
nanced  horse-racing.  The  Colonel's  friends  said  the  oppo 
sition  was  all  a  political  move,  agin  their  party.  At  one 
time  it  looked  as  if  we  should  have  to  give  up  the  Society, 
there  was  so  much  bitterness  of  feeling.  It  is  surprising 
to  see  how  far  men  will  carry  their  political  prejudices. 
Partisanship  works  into  everything,  controls  men's  votes 
for  the  officers,  and  committees  of  the  Society,  and  some 
times  determines  the  award  of  premiums.  Democratic 


86  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

corn  has  to  weigh  a  few  more  pounds  in  the  bushel,  and 
yield  a  few  more  bushels  to  the  acre,  in  order  to  be  equal 
to  a  competitor's  of  the  opposite  party.  Black  Republican 
butter,  though  up  to  the  Orange  County  stamp,  stands  no 
sort  of  a  chance  beside  an  inferior  article,  if  it  was  made 
from  Democratic  cream.  And  because  a  few  men  carry 
their  prejudices  to  this  extent,  and  try  to  buy  votes  to  get 
themselves  into  the  legislature,  by  this  petty  trade  in 
premiums  at  the  fall  fairs,  there  are  some  addled  enough 
to  believe  that  all  our  Society  affairs  are  managed  upon 
this  principle. 

Our  Hookertown  folks  did  not  go  up  to  the  annual  meet 
ing  last  year,  thinking  that  the  Society  had  got  along  where 
it  would  take  care  of  itself.  But  things  do  not  take  care 
of  themselves  in  this  world.  If  you  do  not  plant  hoed 
crops,  briars  and  thistles  will  grow.  If  the  friends  of  an 
Agricultural  Society  do  not  follow  it  up  and  shape  its  pol 
icy,  it  will  go  wrong.  We  have  no  right  to  put  our  hand 
to  the  plow  and  look  back.  If  we  do,  we  are  in  very  poor 
business  to  grumble  that  others  stand  at  the  plow  tail  in 
our  place.  About  the  meanest  thing  a  man  can  do  is  to 
grumble.  If  he  can't  help  it,  grumbling  will  do  no  good. 
If  he  can,  he  ought  to  go  to  work  and  stop  chafing. 

I  had  to  work  about  a  month,  before  the  meeting,  rid 
ing  round  and  talking  with  grumbling  people,  before  I 
could  get  things  into  the  right  shape.  I  have  always  ob 
served  that  there  was  great  virtue  in  talking.  If  you 
have  a  good  cause  and  keep  it  before  the  people  persever- 
ingly,  you  are  certain^  to  carry  it  in  time.  I  knew  if  we 
could  have  a  full  meeting,  from  all  parts  of  the  County, 
and  talk  matters  over,  we  could  come  to  a  good  under 
standing,  and  make  the  Society  efficient  in  doing  its  ap 
propriate  work,  which  I  take  to  be  horse  raising  and  other 
kind  of  growth,  and  not  horse  racing,  and  razing  of  in 
dustry  and  good  morals.  The  people  who  had  the  man 
agement  last  year,  followed  their  own  tastes  without  mean- 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  87 

ing  any  harm  to  the  Society.  They  would  have  done  bet 
ter,  if  they  had  had  better  advisers.  If  the  friends  of  good 
order  wont  take  the  pains  to  be  in  their  places,  and  make 
their  influence  felt,  they  have  no  right  to  grumble  when 
things  go  wrong. 

The  result  was,  that  we  had  the  largest  annual  meeting 
we  have  ever  held,  and  a  new  board  of  officers  was  put  in, 
without  much  division  of  sentiment.  The  Colonel's  friends 
were  so  much  ashamed  of  their  own  folly,  that  they  did 
not  make  any  show  of  opposition.  These  County  Fairs 
are  doing  so  much  good  that  I  think  every  good  citizen 
ought  to  make  sacrifices,  if  necessary,  to  sustain  them.  If 
they  are  attended  with  some  evils,  as  much  can  be  said 
against  all  other  forms  of  associated  effort.  The  millennium 
has  not  come  yet,  and  no  wheels  move  with  so  little  friction 
that  they  do  not  need  grease  sometimes.  Apply  oil,  and 
stop  the  squeaking.  Our  Society  has  done  more  to  set 
folks  to  thinking  about  the  principles  of  farming  than  any 
thing  we  ever  had  among  us.  There  has  been  a  steady  gain 
every  year  in  the  variety  and  excellence  of  almost  every 
thing  exhibited.  The  farmers  see  this  and  understand  it, 
while  city  people  and  careless  observers  think  every  show 
is  just  alike,  a  chaotic  mass  of  cabbages,  turnips,  and  other 
roots ;  corn  and  other  grains ;  horses,  cows,  pigs,  and 
poultry.  But  the  farmer  recognizes  at  once  the  new  Win- 
ningstadt  or  Enfield  among  the  cabbages,  the  Ashcroft 
among  the  turnips,  the  Rhode  Island  Premium  among 
corn,  or  any  new  comer  among  kine  or  swine.  There  is 
something  to  be  learned  every  year.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  Seth  Twiggs,  Jake  Frink,  and  Uncle  Jotham,  have 
done  more  thinking  about  their  business,  the  last  two 
years,  than  in  all  the  rest  of  their  lives.  And  when  folks 
begin  to  think  about  raising  stock,  and  cultivating  the 
best  crops,  they  soon  discover  their  own  ignorance,  and 
seek  light.  They  want  to  talk  and  read.  I  guess  there 
are  ten  agricultural  papers  taken  in  this  town  where  there 


88  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

was  one  two  years  since.  The  Farmers'  Club  is  well  attend 
ed  at  the  school-house  every  week,  and  the  discussions  are  a 
good  intellectual  treat  to  everybody  that  has  a  rod  of  land 
to  cultivate,  and  that  is  everybody  here.  The  minister,  the 
lawyer,  and  the  doctor,  the  schoolmaster  and  the  judge,  are 
generally  there,  and  the  farmers  come  in  from  the  whole 
neighborhood.  Now  all  this  has  come  of  the  County  fairs. 
The  Society  has  left  its  mark  in  everybody's  yard  or  gar 
den,  dropping  young  shade  trees,  apples,  pears,  peaches, 
cherries,  grape  vines,  and  flower  borders.  The  homesteads 
look  more  cheerful,  and  the  people  are  more  thriving  in 
their  business.  This  year  the  Society  has  offered  a  pre 
mium  for  every  shade  tree  set  out  in  the  streets.  We  mean 
to  line  every  roadside  in  the  County,  within  five  years. 
Even  Jake  Frink  is  beginning  to  dig  holes  to  set  out  trees 
this  spring.  His  old  friends  will  hardly  know  Jake,  or  his 
establishment,  in  a  few  years  more. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
HooJcertown,  Feb.  8th,  1859. 


No.  29.— TIM  BUNKER  AT  HOME  AGAIN. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  have  been  gone  from  home  four  whole 
months,  and  I  do  declare  if  they  wa'n't  the  longest  months 
I  ever  experienced.  I  haven't  seen  anything  of  your  pa 
per,  and  not  much  of  any  other,  as  to  that  matter,  since  I 
went  off,  and  I've  pretty  much  lost  the  run  of  things  up 
here  in  Connecticut  and  out  in  your  village.  It  was  curis 
how  it  happened,  so  curis  that  I  haven't  got  over  my  as 
tonishment  at  the  thought  of  my  journey  yet.  I  couldn't 


THE   TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS.  89 

hardly  believe  I'd  started,  until  I  got  home.  I  should  have 
said,  a  year  ago,  that  it  would  have  taken  six  yoke  of  cat 
tle,  and  a  horse  on  ahead,  to  have  drawn  Tim  Bunker  out 
West  or  down  South.  But  lo  and  behold !  I've  been 
on  a  journey  of  five  thousand  miles,  and  got  back  alive. 
I've  seen  the  elephant  from  trunk  to  tail,  and  the  next 
time  I  go  on  any  such  fool's  errand  you  see  I  shall  stay  at 
home.  They  call  it  L.  E.  Fant,  Esq.,  down  South,  and 
think  it  is  a  joke.  I  did  not  find  it  any  joke  at  all. 

The  way  it  happened,  you  see,  was  this.  Wife  and  I 
have  always  stayed  at  home — hardly  ever  venturing  fur 
ther  away  from  Hookertown  than  down  to  your  village, 
when  I  had  cattle  to  sell,  or  something  of  that  sort.  We 
were  a  very  quiet  sort  of  people,  and  never  had  much 
company  outside  of  our  own  circle  of  friends,  until  I  got  to 
writing  for  your  paper,  when  the  tide  seemed  to  turn,  and 
lots  of  strangers  began  to  call  on  us.  After  that  account 
of  the  wedding  by  your  reporter,  they  come  so  plenty 
that  my  wife  said  she  should  have  to  go  down  to  Shad- 
town,  to  live  with  Sally,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  company. 
You  see  everybody  that  comes  to  Hookertown — and  a 
good  many  come  here  in  summer — has  to  look  up  Tim 
Bunker,  and  stare  at  him,  jest  as  if  he  was  a  lion.  They 
would  go  by,  looking  at  our  house  as  if  it  was  haunted, 
or  some  man  had  committed  murder  there.  One  fellow 
come  up  here  in  the  fall  with  a  looking  glass  on  three  legs, 
and  said  he  was  going  to  take  a  picture  of  the  house  for 
some  New  York  paper.  I  was  called  on  before  breakfast 
and  after  breakfast,  in  the  field,  and  in  the  barn,  early  and 
late,  until  I  was  troubled  to  get  time  to  attend  to  my  own 
business.  Now  this  would  have  been  very  pleasant  to  a 
politician,  or  a  man  born  to  fame,  but  it  was  mighty  un 
comfortable  to  plain  country  folks  like  Mrs.  Bunker  and 
I.  There  is  nothing  a  man  pays  so  dear  for  as  for  his 
honors.  If  he  is  wise,  he  will  add  another  petition  to  the 
Lord's  prayer, — "  deliver  us  from  evil  and  from  fame."  I 


90  THE    TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

don't  know  as  this  is  quite  orthodox,  but  wife  and  I  have 
made  up  our  minds  on  this  point,  and  are  too  old  to 
change. 

Well,  things  come  to  such  a  pass  that  Mrs.  Bunker  de 
clared  she  would  not  stand  it  any  longer.  She  laid  down 
her  gold-bowed  spectacles,  the  same  that  Josiah  gave  her, 
one  evening  last  December,  and  says  she :  "  Timothy,  our 
house  is  getting  to  be  a  tavern,  and  I  should  like  to  go  off 
and  have  a  rest  this  winter." 

"  Well,"  says  I,  "  where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  to  get  out  of  Hookertown,  where  you  are 
not  known." 

"  Very  good,  pack  up  the  trunks,  and  we  will  be  off  down 
South  next  week." 

I  had  no  idea  of  her  going,  but  I  see  in  a  day  or  two 
that  she  was  in  earnest,  and  when  a  Connecticut  woman 
has  made  up  her  mind,  you  know  there  is  no  use  in  talk 
ing.  So  we  started  on  our  trip,  and  to  make  certain  of 
getting  into  a  place  quiet  enough  for  Mrs.  Bunker,  we 
fetched  up  on  a  cotton  plantation.  There  was  not  any 
other  house  in  sight,  and  no  neighbors  within  a  mile.  It 
was  mighty  woodsy  and  lonesome,  mail  once  a  week,  and 
preaching  once  in  two  weeks,  and  about  eight  miles  off. 
Thinks  I  to  myself  "  if  Mrs.  Bunker  wants  a  quiet  time  I 
guess  nothing  will  hinder  her  here."  It  was  mighty  nice 
for  a  week  or  two,  and  she  was  delighted  with  the  woods 
and  flowers,  the  dogs  and  pigs,  the  poultry  and  negroes. 
The  third  week  she  began  to  miss  the  papers,  and  to  in 
quire  about  the  mails.  The  fourth  week  she  wondered 
why  they  did  not  have  preaching  every  Sunday.  The 
fifth  week,  she  began  to  talk  about  John  and  Sally.  By 
the  time  two  months  were  up,  she  spoke  of  Hookertown, 
very  peaceably.  At  the  close  of  the  third  month  it  was  a. 
very  handsome  place,  indeed  the  prettiest  village  she  had 
seen  in  all  her  journeyings.  Now  that  she  has  got  home, 
she  declares  it  is  the  centre  of  the  world,  and  the  tip-top 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  91 

of  creation.     That  is  rather  a  strong  statement,  but  as  I 
never  dispute  a  woman's  word,  I  shall  have  to  let  it  go. 

Now  I  can't  tell  you  anything  about  what  I  see  down 
South,  'cause,  you  see,  folks  that  have  not  been  there  would 
not  believe  me,  it  is  so  unlike  any  thing  at  home.  But  I 
jest  want  to  say,  that  if  anybody  or  his  wife  gets  rest 
less  and  uneasy,  that  is  the  country  to  go  to,  to  get  cured 
up.  It  is  better  than  Perry  Davis's  Pain  Killer,  or  the 
Springs ;  I  haven't  seen  so  contented  a  woman  in  ten  years 
as  Mrs.  Bunker,  since  she  got  home.  She  says  she  never 
will  say  another  word  about  company  as  long  as  she  lives ; 
and  as  to  her  neighbors,  they  are  the  handsomest  people 
in  the  country. 

I  guess  she  is  about  right.  It  does  New  England  peo 
ple  good  to  go  away  from  home  once  in  a  while,  jest  to 
see  how  the  rest  of  the  world  live.  They  generally  come 
home  wiser  and  better.  Every  thing  has  gone  on  well  in 
Hookertown,  since  I  have  been  gone — just  as  well,  for 
aught  I  can  see,  as  if  I  had  been  at  home.  There  are 
some  people  who  think  the  world  will  come  to  an  end 
when  they  die.  Let  them  step  out  of  the  traces  a  few 
months,  and  then  come  back  and  see  how  smoothly  the 
world  spins  on  without  them,  and  they  will  be  cured  of 
that  folly. 

There  is  only  one  thing  that  shocks  me  on  coming  home, 
and  that  is  the  blue  window  shutters  of  my  neighbor 
Seth  Twiggs.  What  upon  earth  possessed  the  man  to 
have  'em  painted  that  color,  I  don't  see.  Shutters,  indigo 
blue,  in  this  nineteenth  century,  and  in  Hookertown,  too ! 
It  is  an  atrocity.  Just  as  if  there  was  not  blue  enough  in 
the  heavens  without  a  man's  putting  patches  of  it  on  to 
his  house !  I  asked  Seth  about  this,  the  first  thing  when  I 
got  home.  Says  he,  "  Tim  Bunker,  you  don't  know  every 
thing,  tho'  I  admit  you  are  a  knowing  man.  You  see  I 
smoke  a  good  deal,  and  blue  is  the  handsomest  color  in  the 
universe.  It  is  blue  inside  very  often,  and  I  thought  I 


92  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

might  as  well  have  it  blue  out  of  doors  to  keep  the  bal 
ance."     I  had  nothing  to  say,  and  have  only  to  add 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  May  1st,  1859. 


No.  30.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  RAISING  BOYS. 


MR.  EDITOR: — As  I  was  going  down  by  the  horse- 
pond  lot,  this  morning,  the  same  one  that  I  drained  last 
year,  I  found  Seth  Twiggs'  horse,  Jotham  Sparrowgrass' 
cows,  and  Deacon  Smith's  flock  of  sheep,  turned  into  my 
corn  and  oats.  It  looked  as  if  they  had  been  in  the  better 
part  of  the  night ;  for  the  corn  was  pretty  much  all  nip 
ped  off,  or  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  the  oats  were  badly 
trampled.  The  corn  crop  is  of  course  ruined,  as  it  is  now 
too  late  to  plant  over.  It  so  happened  that  I  had  fixed 
one  of  the  gate  posts  yesterday  and  the  dirt  was  all  nicely 
smoothed  off,  and  the  enemy  who  had  done  this  had  left 
his  footprints  by  the  gate-way.  I  took  the  measure  of 
the  shoe  print,  and  walked  straight  up  to  Jake  Frink's,  and 
inquired  for  his  oldest  boy  Kier,  a  young  fellow  about 
eighteen,  who  is  up  to  all  manner  of  monkey  shines,  and 
has  got  a  terrible  bad  name  in  Hookertown.  Kier  was 
called  in,  and  it  was  found  that  the  measure  exactly  fitted 
the  shoes  in  which  he  stood,  length  and  breadth  of  top 
and  heel. 

Jake  Frink  was  a  good  deal  astonished,  when  he  see 
that  his  boy  was  caught  in  such  an  unneighborly  trick, 
but  I  don't  know  why  he  need  to  be,  for  he  has  had  no 
sort  of  control  over  his  boys,  and  always  let  them  choose 


THE   TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS.  93 

their  own  company  and  pursuits.  Kier  has  got  a  notion 
of  drinking,  the  last  few  years,  staying  all  night  at  the 
tavern,  driving  fast  horses,  unhinging  gates,  girdling  young 
fruit  trees,  firing  stacks,  and  turning  cattle  into  corn  fields. 
He  seems  to  think  it  is  very  smart  to  destroy  property  in 
this  way,  and  to  make  himself  a  nuisance  in  the  neighbor 
hood  generally.  He  is  caught  now,  and  must  walk  up  to 
the  captain's  office  and  settle.  The  next  worst  thing  to  a 
bad  father  is  a  bad  public  opinion  that  submits  to  vice 
and  rowdyism.  I  am  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  if  I  was 
not,  I  am  a  neighbor  to  Jake  Frink,  and  bound  to  help 
him  keep  his  boys  in  their  place.  I  have  a  very  poor 
opinion  of  that  moral  cowardice  which  gives  up  a  civiliz 
ed  community  to  the  depredations  of  a  set  of  young 
Arabs,  like  Kier  Frink.  What  is  the  use  of  having  law, 
if  you  do  not  enforce  it  against  the  destroyers  of  property 
and  the  disturbers  of  the  peace  ?  If  the  young  chaps  want 
to  cut  up,  and  have  music,  it  is  fair  that  they  should  pay 
the  fiddler.  If  they  rob  hen  roosts,  the  hens  should  not 
be  left  to  do  all  the  squawking.  It  will  do  them  good  to 
look  out  of  a  roost,  with  iron  grates  to  the  windows. 

Now  I  hold,  that  a  man  is  a  poor  farmer,  as  well  as  a 
bad  citizen,  that  raises  such  a  boy  as  Kier  Frink.  The 
farm  exists  for  the  sake  of  the  family  that  works  it,  and  its 
chief  end  is  to  make  smart,  useful  men  and  women.  Your 
great  crops  and  fine  stock  all  go  for  nothing,  unless  you 
get  the  blossom  of  the  farm — man.  What  is  an  apple  tree 
good  for,  unless  it  raises  apples  ?  The  shade  is  no  better 
than  that  of  any  other  tree,  and  the  fire-wood  does  not 
amount  to  much.  So  the  farm  is  not  worth  much,  unless 
it  blossoms  out  into  good,  nice  housewives,  and  useful,  up 
right  men. 

It  is  a  good  deal  of  a  knack  to  raise  a  first-rate  cow  or 
steer,  even  after  they  are  born  right.  There  is  many  a 
full  blood  heifer,  with  first-rate  milking  qualities,  spoiled 
by  bad  treatment.  Keep  her  on  bog  hay  winters,  and  let 


94  THE    TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS. 

her  run  in  the  road  summers,  and  I  guess  she  would  never 
amount  to  much.  And  you  might  have  high  grade  De- 
vons,  with  all  the  elements  of  splendid  working  cattle  in 
them,  that  would  bring  three  hundred  dollars  a  yoke,  and 
treat  them  so  when  they  were  calves  and  yearlings,  that 
they  would  not  bring  a  hundred.  You  might  dwarf  them 
or  lame  them,  or  injure  their  horns,  or  make  them  ugly  and 
breachy  by  bad  handling.  An  ox  known  to  jump  fences, 
or  kick,  or  gore  cattle,  is  very  much  depreciated  in  value. 

It  is  just  so  with  the  human  stock  brought  up  on  a 
farm.  Almost  every  thing  depends  upon  the  bringing  up 
— a  great  deal  more  than  it  does  with  the  brutes,  for  the 
animal  nature  of  man  is  only  a  small  part  of  him,  and  his 
moral  nature  and  habits  are  almost  entirely  shaped  by 
those  who  have  the  care  of  him,  while  he  is  young.  If 
this  gets  the  right  start,  I  have  always  noticed  that  it  gen 
erally  brings  every  thing  else  along  right,  with  it.  If  a  fruit 
tree  gets  to  bearing  when  it  is  young,  all  the  forces  of  the 
tree  will  run  to  fruit,  and  you  will  not  be  troubled  with 
too  much  wood  and  foliage.  And  if  a  boy  blossoms  out 
into  the  virtues  of  industry,  truthfulness,  honesty,  tem 
perance,  and  purity,  I  think  it  is  pretty  certain  we  shall 
have  that  kind  of  fruit  as  long  as  he  lives. 

Now,  to  get  this  fruit  early,  we  must  prune  both  root 
and  branch.  The  shoots  that  are  running  to  wood  must 
be  shortened  in,  and  a  spade  must  sometimes  be  thrust 
down  upon  the  roots,  and  cut  them  off.  This  seems  harsh 
treatment,  but  every  fruit  grower  knows  that  it  is  neces 
sary.  So  we  must  shorten  in  the  boys,  when  they  run 
wild,  nip  off  the  blossom  buds  of  vice,  lying,  stealing, 
swearing,  drunkenness,  and  such  like.  There  is  an  old  ar 
ticle  they  used  to  do  such  things  with,  when  I  was  a  boy, 
— called  Solomon's  rod.  The  bark  was  very  bitter,  but 
wholesome,  and  it  worked  like  a  charm.  I  am  afraid  folks 
do  not  use  it  so  much  as  they  used  to.  At  any  rate  Jake 
Frink  has  never  used  it  at  all.  He  was  always  scolding 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  95 

about  the  cruelty  of  whipping  children,  and  if  one  of  his 
ever  got  a  little  of  the  oil  of  birch  in  school,  he  was  always 
ready  to  find  fault  with  the  teacher,  and  take  the  child's 
part.  The  youngsters  very  soon  came  to  believe  that 
their  father  had  rather  have  them  lie  and  make  disturb 
ance,  than  to  speak  the  truth  and  behave  well.  His  mode 
of  bringing  up  boys  has  turned  out  upon  society  that 
promising  lad,  Kier  Frink,  a  vagabond  and  loafer,  at  the 
age  of  eighteen !  Solomon's  rod,  with  steel  at  the  end  of 
it,  was  never  half  so  cruel  as  the  misplaced  indulgence  of 
his  father.  What  sorrows  are  before  the  poor  old  man 
with  such  thorns  in  his  pillow  !  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you 
keep  up  your  chats  with  the  boys  and  girls.  Keep  them 
straight  a  few  years  longer,  and  we  shall  have  a  genera 
tion  of  farmers  worth  looking  at. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  June  13th,  1859. 


NO.  31.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  RAISING  GIRLS. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — Ever  since  I  sent  you  that  account  of 
the  "  gal  hoss  race "  got  up  by  Col.  Lawson  last  fall,  I 
have  been  thinking  about  the  way  girls  are  brought  up  in 
this  country.  Indeed,  I  have  had  considerable  many  ideas 
on  that  subject,  ever  since  our  Sally  was  born,  and  the 
matter  has  been  brewing,  as  Mrs.  Bunker  says  of  her  beer, 
for  well-nigh  twenty  years.  Last  winter  when  I  was  down 
South,  I  got  some  more  ideas,  and  I  am  now  so  full  upon 
this  topic,  that  I  shall  boil  over,  unless  I  dip  out  a  little 
into  your  paper. 


96  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

I  count  a  well-grown,  well-behaved,  and  well-educated 
woman,  as  the  very  blossom  of  creation.  She  was  the 
last  made, — reserved  for  the  last,  because  best.  As  there 
is  nothing  so  good  and  beautiful  in  the  world  as  a  good 
woman,  so  there  is  nothing  so  bad  as  a  spoiled  woman. 
And  now  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  very  many  girls  are  ut 
terly  spoiled.  They  are  not  well  balanced  and  well  adapt 
ed  to  the  work  that  woman  has  to  do.  The  most  are 
brought  up  with  such  notions  that  they  go  through  life 
discontented  and  unhappy. 

There  is  Deacon  Smith's  daughter  Eliza — a  fair  sample 
of  the  kind  of  bringing  up  I  mean.  They  are  very  good 
people  over  there,  but  they  seem  to  forget  that  children 
have  got  to  grow  up,  and  can't  be  playthings  forever. 
They  did  not  teach  her  to  do  any  thing,  when  she  was  a 
little  girl.  She  pretended  to  go  to  school,  but  it  was  only 
when  she  took  a  notion  to  go.  There  was  no  habit  of 
study  fixed,  and  so  she  got  discouraged,  and  disgusted 
with  all  kinds  of  books  that  required  any  thinking.  She 
had  as  little  discipline  of  body  as  of  mind,  could  not  sew 
well,  did  not  know  how  to  make  up  a  bed,  or  to  darn  a 
stocking,  could  not  broil  a  fish,  or  boil  a  pudding.  Some 
how,  her  mother  seemed  to  think  these  every-day  matters 
were  not  worth  attending  to.  She  said  she  was  going  to 
make  a  lady  of  Eliza,  and  marry  her  off  to  some  rich  man, 
who  would  not  want  a  wife  that  knew  how  to  work.  She 
'was  going  to  have  her  "larn  the  ornamentals,"  as  she 
called  them, — music,  painting,  embroidery,  dancing,  and 
such  like.  Sally  used  to  say  that  she  did  not  know  enough 
about  the  lessons  to  last  her  over  night,  when  she  left  the 
academy,  and  I  do  not  think  she  has  learned  much  more 
about  the  common  branches  since.  She  was  sent  oif  to  a 
fashionable  boarding  school  in  your  city,  when  she  was 
fifteen,  where  they  do  nothing  but  put  the  polish  on  to 
young  women.  But  I  should  like  to  know  what  is  the 
use  trying  to  polish  a  woman,  before  you  have  got  a  worn- 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS  97 

an  to  polish.  You  can  put  the  shine  on  to  a  leather  boot, 
for  there  is  some  substance  to  it.  But  you  might  rub 
brown  paper  with  the  best  of  Day  and  Martin  till  dooms 
day,  and  not  get  a  bit  of  gloss ;  there  ain't  substance 
enough  to  hold  the  blacking.  And  you  can  put  the  polish 
on  to  marble,  and  bring  out  leaves  and  flowers,  and  all 
sorts  of  ornamental  things,  upon  the  surface,  but  you 
might  as  well  undertake  to  polish  hasty  pudding,  as  to  do 
anything  with  soap-stone.  It  won't  hold  the  stroke  of  the 
chisel,  or  respond  to  the  touch  of  pumice  stone. 

And  it  is  jest  so  with  sending  a  woman  in  the  gristle  to 
a  fashionable  boarding  school.  A  girl  wants  to  be  solidi 
fied  by  home  duties,  and  solid  studies,  before  she  is  fit  to 
be  sent  away  to  take  on  polish.  Something  ought  to  be 
done  for  her  physical  education,  to  make  her  body  fit  for 
the  responsibilities  of  house  keeping,  and  I  don't  know  of 
anything  better  than  to  have  her  help  her  mother.  A 
woman  has  no  business  to  be  married  until  she  has  shown 
her  capacity  to  keep  house.  She  should  know  how  to 
do  every  thing  from  washing  dishes,  emptying  slops,  mak 
ing  soap  and  yeast  cakes,  up  to  the  nicest  kind  of  cook 
ing  and  needle -work. 

If  they  are  ignorant  of  these  things,  accomplishments 
won't  save  them  from  mortification  and  domestic  unhap- 
piness.  They  will  be  as  bad  off  as  poor  Eliza  was,  at  her 
first  dinner  party,  after  she  got  into  her  new  house.  She 
had  not  been  married  to  Dr.  Sturgis  more  than  two  months, 
before  she  invited  a  company  of  their  friends  to  dine.  The 
Deacon  and  his  wife  were  there,  and  quite  a  number  of 
middle-aged  and  elderly  people,  like  Mrs.  Bunker  and  my 
self.  There  was  a  great  display  of  silver  ware  and  fine 
linen  upon  the  table,  forks,  castors,  spoons,  napkin  rings, 
and  fruit  dishes,  that  you  could  see  your  face  in,  and  china 
plates,  platters,  and  vegetable  dishes  with  gilt  edges,  and 
nosegays  in  the  middle,  so  handsome  and  natural  that  you 
c-ould  almost  smell  the  perfume  of  the  flowers.  There  was 


98  THE    TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

an  air  of  triumph  upon  the  face  of  Mrs.  Deacon  Smith,  as 
we  sat  down  to  dinner,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Now  we  shall 
see  what  it  is  to  have  a  daughter  educated  at  a  fashionable 
French  boarding  school,  and  keep  house  in  style."  There 
was  considerable  unction  about  Mr.  Spooner's  grace  before 
meat,  as  if  he  had  got  it  up  for  the  occasion.  The  com 
pany  were  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and  Dr.  Sturgis  was  slic 
ing  away  at  the  turkey's  breast,  when  attention  was  sud 
denly  arrested  by  sundry  corn,  oats,  and  buckwheat,  slip 
ping  out  of  the  undressed  crop  of  the  fowl.  The  women 
folks  at  that  end  of  the  table  put  their  handkerchiefs  to 
their  noses,  as  if  they  had  got  wind  of  something  that  did 
not  smell  like  thje  roses  on  the  bottoms  of  their  plates. 
Mrs.  Deacon  Smith  fidgeted  about  in  her  chair,  as  if  she 
was  on  pins.  Eliza  looked  as  crimson  as  a  beet,  clear  to 
the  roots  of  her  hair.  The  Deacon  was  at  the  other  end 
of  the  table,  very  busy  discussing  the  last  sermon  or  elec 
tion  with  Mr.  Spoon er,  and  did  not  see  the  trouble.  Our 
Sally  looked  wicked,  and  winked  across  the  table  to  Jo- 
siah,  and  there  was  a  twitching  about  Josiah's  mouth,  that 
I  should  say  was  wicked  also,  if  he  was  not  a  minister. 
Dr.  Sturgis  got  over  the  matter  nicely,  by  remarking  upon 
the  undone  condition  of  the  turkey,  and  calling  a  servant 
to  remove  the  dish.  Fidelity  to  truth,  I  suppose,  did  not 
require  him  to  tell  whether  the  rawness  pertained  to  the 
cooking,  or  the  dressing  of  the  fowl,  or  the  housekeeper, 
that  lay  back  of  both.  Fortunately  a  liberal  allowance 
had  been  made  for  the  dinner,  and  the  boiled  fowls,  pur 
chased  of  a  farmer  who  married  a  housekeeper  as  well  as 
a  woman,  did  duty  for  the  roast  turkey  cooked  with  his 
crop  in. 

Now  I  suppose  a  good  many  of  your  readers  among 
women  folks  will  hold  up  both  their  hands  in  astonish 
ment,  at  my  standard  of  a  good  housewife.  I  say  it  is  a 
shame  and  a  disgrace  for  an  American  woman  not  to 
know  how  to  do  every  thing  that  is  done,  or  ought  to  be 


THE    TIM   BUNKEE    PAPERS.  99 

done,  in  her  kitchen.  There  is  just  as  much  merit  and 
womanly  worth  in  knowing  how  to  bring  a  turkey  upon 
the  dinner  table,  so  that  it  shall  not  be  offensive  to  the 
smell  and  taste  of  her  guests,  as  there  is  in  singing  a  good 
song,  or  in  dressing  in  good  taste.  It  adds  very  much  to 
the  comfort  of  a  woman  to  know  how  to  do  everything 
from  garret  to  cellar.  The  polish  is  all  well  enough,  but 
let  there  be  something  in  the  first  place  to  put  the  polish 
on  to.  This  doll-work,  in  the  place  of  a  good  old-fashion 
ed  wife  that  knows  what  she  is  about,  is  poor  business. 

Now,  what  I  want  to  say  to  all  parents  that  are  bring 
ing  up  girls  is  just  this.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  putting  them 
into  the  kitchen — that  school  of  womanly  virtues — and 
keeping  them  there,  till  they  can  tell  the  difference  be 
tween  a  churn  and  a  tea  kettle — till  they  know  how  to 
scour  a  skillet,  black  a  stove,  wash  a  floor,  and  cook  a  turkey. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEE,  ESQ. 

ttoolcertown,  July  1st,  1859. 


NO.  32.— TIM   BUNKER'S   HAY   CROP. 

A    NEW    CASE    OF   THE    BLACK    AET. 


ME.  EDITOE  : — "  Eleven  tun  of  hay  on  that  mash !  Who 
would  have  thought  it  three  years  ago !"  exclaimed  Seth 
Twiggs,  as  he  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  second  pipe, 
and  proceeded  to  load  again. 

"  Did  you  say  eleven  tun,  Squire  Bunker  ?"  asked  Dea 
con  Little,  as  he  leaned  over  his  staff  toward  me,  with  his 
mouth  open  in  astonishment,  as  if  he  thought  somebody 
must  have  been  lying. 

5 


100  THE   TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

"  It  beats  my  muskrat  swamp  all  hollow,  where  I  got 
two  tun  to  the  acre  the  first  year  after  seeding  down,  and 
I  thought  that  was  enough  to  keep  an  extra  thanksgiving 
on,"  chimed  in  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass. 

•'Eleven  tun  on  four  acres  of  barren  salt  mash,  wliere 
grass  tried  to  grow  and  couldn't  three  years  ago,  is  a 
leetle  miraculus,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Spooner  ?"  asked  Jake  Frink, 
looking  over  to  the  minister,  with  as  much  deference  as  if 
he  was  a  professor. 

"  The  Bible  says  we  are  to  have  a  new  heavens  and  a 
new  earth,  and  I  think  Esq.  Bunker  is  probably  fulfilling 
the  latter  part  of  the  prophecy,"  replied  the  minister  with 
a  quiet  sort  of  smile,  that  left  one  in  doubt  whether  he  was 
in  earnest  or  not. 

These  remarks  of  my  neighbors  on  my  reclaimed  salt 
marsh  are  a  great  contrast  to  the  talk  three  years  ago, 
when  I  first  undertook  that  job.  I  have  not  said  anything 
about  this  improvement  yet,  because  I  did  not  know 
exactly  how  it  was  coining  out.  You  know  the  tide  flows 
a  long  way  up  our  great  river,  and  all  along  the  brinks,  at 
the  mouth  of  creeks  emptying  into  it,  and  along  the  Sound, 
we  have  marshes  bearing  a  great  abundance  of  salt  hay — 
a  poor  article  for  fodder,  but  very  good  for  litter,  mulch 
ing,  and  manure.  I  had  a  few  acres  lying  just  below  the 
lot  I  bought  of  Jake  Frink,  where  I  cured  the  horse-pond. 
There  was  not  much  to  be  done  to  it,  but  to  put  in  a  tide 
gate  at  the  culvert,  and  to  do  some  ditching,  to  shut  off 
the  sea-water.  I  thought  if  I  could  do  this,  I  could  bring 
it  into  good  meadow  with  very  little  expense. 

I  talked  the  matter  over  with  some  of  my  neighbors, 
and  they  all  said  it  was  of  no  use.  But  I  hold  that  man 
was  born  in  the  image  of  his  Maker,  and  has  a  natural  pas 
sion  for  creating  new  things.  This  shows  itself  in  all  chil 
dren,  as  soon  as  they  get  out  of  the  cradle.  They  begin 
to  mnke  hills  in  the  dirt,  to  dig  out  small  pond  holes,  and 
fill  them  with  water,  to  build  houses  and  mud  forts,  to 


THE    TIM    BUNKEli  JPA?EKS.  .   ;  -  ,  - ,  - ,  , ,  KU 

wl little  as  soon  as  they  can  hold  a  jack-knife,  and  to  exer 
cise  the  creative  art  in  general.  I  thought  it  was  a  very 
natural  and  human  thing  for  me  to  undertake  to  create  a 
piece  of  meadow.  It  was  all  the  more  natural  for  me,  be 
cause  I  wanted  a  few  more  tons  of  hay  to  winter  my  cat 
tle  on,  as  I  could  pasture  more  in  the  summer  than  I  could 
carry  through  the  foddering  season  without  buying  hay. 

But  Deacon  Little  seemed  to  think  it  was  a  presump 
tuous  thing,  and  a  little  nearer  to  sacrilege  than  anything 
should  be  up  here  "  in  the  land  of  steady  habits."  The 
deacon,  having  passed  his  four  score  years  some  time  ago, 
is  one  of  the  good  old  men,  who  belong  to  a  former  age, 
whom  death  seems  to  forget,  they  are  so  exemplary  in  all 
their  deportment.  The  Bible  is  not  only  his  authority  in 
all  religious  matters,  as  it  should  be,  but  in  every  thing 
else.  lie  at  once  brought  my  project  to  this  test.  Said 
he  to  me  one  day : 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  Timothy — c  a  salt  land  and  not  inhab 
ited,'  is  written  in  the  Bible,  and  you  might  as  well  expect 
English  hay  on  the  plains  of  Sodom,  as  on  that  mash." 

"  But  salt  grass  grows  there  now,  and  if  you  shut  off  • 
the  sea-water,  why  will  not  the  fresh  grasses  grow  ?"     I 
asked. 

"  Ah !  Timothy,  you  forget  that  the  Almighty  made 
that  a  salt  mash,  and  His  works  are  perfect." 

"Perfect  for  some  uses,  but  not  for  ours.  He  has  made 
me  with  brains  to  make  new  creations,  and  I  shall  try  to 
make  that  piece  of  land  over  again." 

"  You  are  a  sorry  infidel,  Tim  Bunker,  I  am  sorry  to  say 
it,"  and  the  old  man  left  me,  with  a  very  poor  opinion  of 
my  reverence  for  the  Divine  workmanship. 

My  other  neighbors  had  as  poor  an  opinion  of  my  judg 
ment  and  good  sense,  as  the  deacon  had  of  my  veneration 
for  the  Almighty.  At  the  time  the  gate  was  put  in,  they 
were  all  on  hand  to  see  the  new  hobby. 

"  What  new-fangled  consarn's  that  ?"  asked  Jake  Frink. 


PAPERS. 

"  How  is  it  going  to  work  ?"  inquired  Seth  Twiggs. 

"Ye  don't  expect  that  door  will  shet  itself,  and  keep 
the  water  eout,  dew  ye  ?"  wondered  Tucker  and  Jones. 

"  A  great  piece  of  folly !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Jotham.  u  Ye 
see,  this  thing  lias  been  tried  time  and  agin,  down  on  the 
Island,  and  alters  failed.  Ben  Miller  had  jest  sich  a  con- 
sarn,  and  tinkered  away  with  it  four  or  five  years,  and 
gin  it  up  as  a  humbug." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  Ben  Miller  tinkered  with  fish,  and 
spiled  his  land,  you  said,  but  you  see  what  whopping 
crops  I  get  with  fish,  eighty  bushels  of  corn  to  the  acre, 
and  forty  of  rye.  You  see,  Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  it  was 
never  meant  that  one  man  should  do  everything." 

"  It  is  well  Mr.  Bunker  has  the  money  to  lose  on  such 
an  experiment,''  remarked  Mr.  Spooner,  who  evidently  had 
as  little  faith  in  my  success  as  our  less  intelligent  neigh 
bors. 

Well,  last  year  I  got  a  good  crop,  but  there  was  a  con 
siderable  black  marsh  and  onion  grass  left,  and  occasional 
weeds  that  rather  spoiled  the  beauty  of  the  meadow.  But 
this  year  the  herds-grass  and  red-top,  that  I  sowed  two 
years  ago,  got  full  possession,  and  a  handsomer  lot  of 
grass  you  never  saw  out  of  doors.  It  was  a  grand  sight 
on  the  morning  of  the  llth  of  July,  when  we  cut  it,  the 
purple  tassels  of  the  herds-grass  standing  just  about  four 
feet  high,  and  the  red-top  a  little  shorter,  a  thick  mat  of 
heavy  grass,  in  many  places  good  for  three  and  a  half  tons 
to  the  acre.  I  tried  to  get  my  neighbors  all  out  to  see  it, 
but  it  was  hard  work  to  get  some  of  the  sceptics  along 
the  road  anywhere  in  sight  of  it,  they  were  so  determined 
that  nothing  but  salt  marsh  grass  should  grow  there  for 
ever. 

I  suppose  I  have  ruined  myself  for  life  in  the  esteem  of 
Deacon  Little,  who,  having  seen  the  hay,  and  heard  the 
talk  of  the  people,  thinks  I  must  have  had  resort  to  the 
black  art  to  get  the  crop.  The  Deacon  is  about  half  right, 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK   PAPERS.  103 

for  I  did  give  about  two  acres  of  it  a  thorough  top-dress 
ing  of  black  compost  last  winter,  which  started  the  grass 
as  if  there  was  something  behind  it.  This  is  the  only 
kind  of  black  art  I  believe  in,  and  this  I  am  bound  to 
practice  and  teach  to  my  neighbors.  I  think  it  is  not  very 
dangerous. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEK,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  July  25th,  1859. 


NO.  33.— LETTER  TO  ESQ.  BUNKER   FROM   HIS 
NEIGHBORS. 


To  TIMOTHY  BUNXER  ESQ. — You  are  getting  people  all 
by  the  hair,  up  here  in  Hookertown,  which  don't  look 
well  in  a  Justice.  Them  personalities  must  be  stopped,  or 
we  shall  have  to  put  a  stopper  on  your  being  justice  of 
the  pease,  enny  mower. 

There  is  tew  sides  to  all  questions,  and  as  many  as  tew 
to  that  mash.  If  taint  a  humbug,  it's  a  grate  hobby,  and 
is  bound  to  run  itself  strate  intu  the  ground.  Then,  we 
guess,  somebody  else  will  be  riting  funny  things  in  the 
papers,  abeout  their  naburs,  beside  Square  Bunker.  One 
of 'em,  a  district  Committee  man,  who  knows  all  abeout 
skools,  sez,  that  he  never  knew  a  mash  yet  that  dident 
turn  Injun,  and  he  guesses  Square  Bunker  cant  work  mira- 
kles,  to  keep  his'n  from  'postatizing.  He  sez,  that  you've 
spent  a  deal  of  money,  and  it's  nothing  but  money,  that 
makes  this  mare  go,  as  in  other  kases.  Bimebye  the  tide 
gate  will  get  broke,  the  ditches  will  fill  up,  the  clover  will 
die  eout,  and  eel-grass  begin  to  grow  again — and  some 
fine  morning  you'll  be  looking  for  that  mash,  and  find  it 
under  water. 


104  THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

Jake  Frink  sez,  that  crabs,  and  salt  water  tadpoles,  will 
be  swimming  all  over  it  arter  a  little  while.  Jake  feels  as 
kross  as  Tophet,  at  being  called  nick-names,  and  we  guess 
he  ain't  the  only  ones  nuther.  His  son  Hezekiah,  that  you 
have  black-guarded  so  much,  is  gvvine  to  marry  a  'spect- 
able  widder,  and  he  don't  want  to  be  nick-named,  enny 
mower. 

There's  tew  of  your  naburs,  at  least,  who  take  the  paper, 
that  want  this  business  stopped.  When  we  inquire  abeout 
tide  gates,  or  enny  sich  like  konsarns,  we  don't  want  to  be 
maid  fun  of,  and  shan't. — How  would  you  like  it  yer  self, 
Square  Bunker,  to  have  your  naburs  twit  you  abeout  them 
long-legged  boots,  or  that  old  bat,  that  come  deown  from 
Noah's  ark,  and  them  other  klotbes,  that  aint  exactly  the 
rig  for  a  justice;  or  abeout  Kier  Frink's  beating  you 
at  shooting  muskrats,  and  he  has  done  it  menny  a  time. 
Don't  you  kno'  yer  self,  that  twitting  on  facts,  riles  up 
people  dreddfully,  and  is  like  fire  and  brimstone  on  the 
raw  flesh?  Neow,  ye  see,  Square,  folks  as  lives  in  glass 
houses  should  not  throw  stuns.  We  jest  want  to  let  you 
kno',  that  we've  got  stuns  to  throw,  and  shal  sartintly 
throw  'em  if  you  don't  stop  them  personalities. 

Very  Detarminedly,  Your  Naburs, 

GEO.  WASHINGTON  TUCKER, 
BENJ.  FRANKLIN  JONES. 

HooJcertown,  Sept.  10th,  1859. 


NO.   34.— TIM    BUNKER    ON    THE    SHADTOWN 
PARSONAGE— AND  A  GRANDSON. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  told  you  at  the  time  we  fixed  Sally  out 
for  housekeeping,  that  I  should  probably  have  something 
to  say  about  the  young  folks  after  the  wedding,  when  the 


THE    THT    BUNKEK   PAPERS.  105 

writers  of  stories  generally  say  goodbye  to  their  heroes. 
I  did  not  think  then,  that  I  should  have  anything  special 
to  say  so  soon,  but  this  is  a  fast  age  of  the  world,  and  any 
writer  who  keeps  up  with  the  times  will  not  have  a  chance 
for  his  ink  to  get  dry  in  his  quill. 

Mrs.  Bunker  and  I  were  sent  for  last  week,  to  come 
down  to  Shadtown  and  make  a  visit,  not  thinking  at  all 
what  honors  awaited  us.  Shadtown  lies  on  the  river,  a 
few  miles  from  here,  and  is  one  of  those  homely  names  that 
stick  to  a  place  forever.  They  have  a  good  many  such 
names  up  here  in  Connecticut,  and  the  folks,  or  at  least  a 
part  of  them,  seem  to  glory  in  them,  as  if  they  were  the 
right  things  in  the  right  place.  They  were  suggested  by 
the  character  of  the  country,  or  by  some  incident  in  their 
early  history,  and  the  necessity  of  a  change  has  never 
been  felt.  Break-neck  Hill  took  its  name  from  its  danger 
ous  character,  and  from  the  fact  that  a  man  was  once 
thrown  from  his  wagon,  and  killed  there.  Hard-Scrabble 
is  a  very  poor,  rough  region,  and  both  men  and  animals 
have  to  scrabble  to  get  a  living.  Bean  Hill  was  so  called 
from  the  fact  that  that  esculent  grew  in  great  perfection 
in  the  vicinity,  and  was  greatly  delighted  in  by  the  inhab 
itants.  It  was  the  invariable  Sunday  morning  breakfast, 
the  year  round,  and  to  professors  even,  was  a  reliable  in 
dication  of  the  day.  Tradition  relates  that  the  Deacon 
was  once  sadly  misled  by  the  failure  of  his  usual  dish,  the 
bean  bag  having  been  exhausted  unexpectedly.  He  had 
already  ground  his  scythe,  and  would  have  gone  to  mow 
ing  but  for  the  timely  remonstrance  of  his  good  wife. 
This  may  have  been  a  scandal,  but  the  bean-eating  is  still 
kept  up  by  the  people,  in  all  its  early  vigor. 

They  undertook  to  alter  the  name  of  the  place  some 
years  ago,  and  call  it  Myrtleville,  but  they  could  not  make 
it  go.  The  old  inhabitants  said  that  "beans  grew  there, 
and  myrtles  did  not ;  and  they  could  not  see  the  use  of 
putting  a  name  to  a  place  that  did  not  belong  to  it."  Bean 
5* 


106  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

Hill  they  could  see  the  reason  of,  for  everybody  in  the  place 
ate  baked  beans,  and  the  crop  was  natural  to  the  soil. 

Shadtown  was  so  called  from  the  abundance  of  that  fish 
caught  at  the  landing — a  name  handed  down  from  the  first 
settlement.  It  is  a  staid  parish,  and  the  people  boast  that 
they  have  never  dismissed  a  minister.  A  few  have  filled 
up  their  half  century  of  service,  and  all  have  died  among 
them.  They  are  about  as  proud  of  this  as  they  are  of  the 
name  of  their  place.  Shadtown  was  the  name  given  by 
the  fathers,  is  honorable,  and  is  therefore  to  be  honored 
and  had  in  reverence  for  all  coming  time.  The  man  that 
should  propose  to  change  it  to  Tivoli,  Arno,  or  any  other 
euphonious  name,  would  be  mobbed,  if  that  thing  were 
possible  in  this  Commonwealth. 

At  the  time  Josiah  was  settled  here,  a  couple  of  years 
ago,  the  people  made  a  stir,  and  built  a  new  parsonage. 
The  old  building  had  stood  over  a  hundred  years,  and  had 
accommodated  their  last  three  ministers.  The  good  old 
practice  of  furnishing  the  pastor  with  a  parsonage  and 
glebe  has  always  been  kept  up  here.  As  the  country 
filled  up  with  people,  and  land  became  more  valuable,  they 
sold  off  a  part  of  it,  but  there  are  still  ten  acres  left  of  this 
fat  valley  land,  and  I  guess  better  soil  does  not  lie  out  of 
doors. 

They  built  the  new  parsonage  a  little  nearer  to  the  meet 
ing-house,  setting  it  back  further  from  the  road,  and  throw 
ing  a  part  of  the  fruit  trees  into  the  front  yard.  They 
made  the  house  every  way  convenient,  put  in  a  furnace,  a 
range,  a  bathing-room,  and  all  the  fixings  that  a  woman 
needs  to  keep  house  easy  with.  They  enclosed  a  large 
yard,  nearly  an  acre,  with  a  nice  fence,  and  planted  it 
with  evergreens  and  shrubs,  so  that  it  looked  about  as  in 
viting  as  any  house  in  the  village. 

It  was  curious  to  see  what  a  great  variety  of  fruits  had 
been  planted  in  the  garden  and  orchard  by  the  good  men 
who  had  lived  and  died  upon  this  spot.  There  is  about 


THE    TIM    BUXKEll    PAPEltS.  107 

an  acre  devoted  to  apples,  and  some  of  the  trees,  I  guess, 
are  a  hundred  years  old,  for  they  have  been  old  trees  ever 
since  I  can  remember.  Then  there  are  perhaps  twenty 
old  pear  trees,  and  a  good  many  younger  ones,  just  begin 
ning  to  bear,  to  say  nothing  of  the  dwarfs  that  Josiah  has 
just  put  out.  All  the  small  fruits,  currants,  gooseberries, 
strawberries,  raspberries,  and  blackberries,  have  their  ap 
propriate  place.  Grape  vines  run  along  the  sides  of  the 
barn,  and  on  arbors  built  on  purpose  for  them.  Plums 
seem  to  flourish  here,  the  soil  being  a  little  clayey.  The 
peaches  have  declined,  though  there  are  the  remains  of 
famous  trees,  at  least  forty  years  old.  There  are  cherries 
and  quinces  in  abundance,  and  along  under  the  wall,  pie 
plant  and  asparagus  enough  to  stock  the  neighborhood. 

I  learned,  from  Josiah,  that  his  predecessors  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  doing  this,  the  parsonage  garden  being  a 
sort  of  free  nursery  for  the  parish.  Seeds  of  flowers  and 
vegetables,  and  grafts,  and  young  plants  of  the  smaller 
fruits  were  freely  distributed  every  spring ;  so  that  almost 
every  garden  in  the  parish  had  its  mementos  from  the  par 
sonage.  It  was  a  literal  sowing  of  good  seed  on  good 
ground,  for  it  almost  always  bore  fruit  to  the  minister's 
advantage,  as  well  as  to  the  people's.  The  whole  region  is 
noted  for  its  good  frait,  mainly  originating  from  the  par 
sonage.  The  finest  peaches  I  have  ever  seen  in  any  of  the 
markets  came  from  Shadtown.  The  parish  has  always 
been  remarkable  for  its  peaceful  character,  and  for  its  reli 
gious  prosperity.  The  unselfish  example  of  the  minister 
seemed  to  be  contagious,  and  there  was  a  "  provoking  to 
love  and  good  works,"  not  always  manifest  among  good 
people.  The  minister  took  an  interest  in  the  bodies  of  his 
people  as  well  as  their  souls,  and  diligently  looked  after 
their  temporal  prosperity.  All  appreciated  these  labors, 
and  somehow,  what  he  said  on  Sunday  struck  in  all  the 
deeper  for  what  he  did  on  week  days.  The  children  might 
not  understand  his  theology,  but  they  did  understand  his 


108  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

strawberries,  and  thought  that  the  doctrines  that  kept 
such  company  were  good  enough  for  them.  The  hardest 
points  in  the  catechism  were  taken  on  faith,  and  Shadtown 
has  always  been  as  orthodox  as  it  has  been  peaceable  and 
united. 

Now,  I  am  not  much  of  a  philosopher,  but  I  guess  the 
characters  of  the  past  ministers,  being  lovers  of  good  fruit, 
as  well  as  of  good  men,  have  had  something  to  do  with  the 
prosperity  of  the  parish.  Their  theology  grew  where  their 
fruit  did,  in  the  open  air  and  sunshine ;  and  I  guess  light 
and  air  are  about  as  necessary  for  sermons  as  they  are  for 
strawberries.  Bad  digestion  makes  a  man's  thoughts  about 
as  sour  as  his  stomach,  and  the  acidity  of  the  pulpit  often 
leavens  the  whole  parish. 

The  folks  in  Shadtown  say  that  Josiah  is  walking  in  the 
footsteps  of  his  predecessors,  only  a  little  more  so,  that  he 
gets  all  the  new  pears  and  strawberries,  and  as  soon  as  he 
finds  they  are  worth  cultivating,  he  sends  them  out  to  his 
neighbors.  I  found  John's  milking  stools  had  come  in 
play,  and  the  butter  and  cheese  which  Sally  had  made 
with  her  own  hands,  were  about  equal  to  anything  we  have 
in  Hookertown.  Mrs.  Bunker  says,  that  she  will  have  to 
own  beat  on  housekeeping  and  butter-making,  but  it  is 
much  safer  for  her  to  say  that  than  it  would  be  for  any 
body  else — in  my  hearing.  She  was  very  much  pleased 
with  her  visit,  but  most  pleased  with  her  first  grandson, 
whom  they  have  named  "Timothy  Bunker  Slocurn." 
Whether  the  child,  or  its  name,  made  her  absent-minded, 
I  am  unable  to  say,  but  I  noticed  her  spectacles  on  wrong 
side  up,  twice  in  one  morning,  and  that  the  knitting  was 
entirely  forgotten. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Itookertown,  Sept.  1st,  1859. 


THE    TIM    BUNKEE    PAPEES.  109 

NO.  35.— TIM    BUNKER    ON    DRESS— IN   REPLY 
TO  HIS  NEIGHBORS. 


ME.  EDITOE  : — I  was  considerably  astonished  to  see  the 
letter  from  Tucker  and  Jones  in  your  last  paper.  I  did 
not  suppose  that  I  had  said  anything  to  break  the  peace, 
or  to  stir  up  my  neighbors,  and  even  that  letter  don't 
fairly  convince  me.  You  see  it  is  a  great  country,  where 
it  takes  two  folks  to  write  a  letter — and  such  a  letter ! 
Anybody  that  knows  those  two*men  knows  that  they  did 
not  write  that  letter.  It  is  not  in  them,  and  what  is  not 
in  a  man  can't  come  out  of  him  any  way.  I  took  the  pa 
per  right  to  Tucker,  as  soon  as  it  come,  and  says  I  to  him, 
says  I, 

"  Tucker,  do  you  know  who  wrote  that  letter  ?" 
"  No,  I  don't,  Square,"  says  he,  "  blam'd  if  I  do." 
And  neighbor  Jones  said  the  same  thing.     If  they  told 
a  whopper,  it  probably  is  not  the  first  one  they  have  told, 
for  though  I  say  it,  that  should  not,  their  reputation  don't 
stand  any  the  highest  for  speaking  the  truth. 

I  suspect  they  either  got  somebody  to  write  the  letter  for 
them,  or  some  envious  person  who  wants  to  get  hold  of 
my  piece  of  reclaimed  marsh,  wrote  it  in  their  name,  mean 
ing  to  run  it  down,  so  as  to  get  it  as  cheap  as  possible. 
That  is  about  the  drift  of  the  letter,  as  far  as  I  can  see  any 
in  it.  But  I  may  as  well  say,  first  as  last,  that  that  piece 
of  land  is  not  in  the  market.  Land  that  will  cut  three  tun 
of  hay  to  the  acre,  or  pasture  a  cow  through  the  whole 
season,  is  about  good  enough  to  keep.  The  marsh  has 
turned  the  heads  of  some  people,  and  I  havejiad  a  lot  of 
folks  from  abroad  to  see  it,  and  to  learn  how  the  trick  was 
done.  A  fellow  called  the  other  day  from  way  down  be 
yond  Boston.  He  had  a  project  in  his  head,  to  reclaim 
three  thousand  acres,  and  make  a  mint  of  money  out  of  it. 


110  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

It  can  be  done  just  as  easy  as  to  flip  a  cent,  if  he  lias  the 
money  to  do  it  with. 

That  letter  tried  to  make  it  out  that  I  had  spent  a  great 
deal  of  money  on  my  marsh.  This  shows  how  little  the 
writer  knows  about  it.  I  have  got  more  than  muck  enough 
out  of  the  ditches  to  pay  for  all  the  improvements  and  top- 
dressings  applied,  to  it ;  so  that  I  am  a  good  deal  in  debt 
to  that  land  to-day.  The  principal  part  of  the  expense  of 
such  an  improvement  is  in  the  embankment,  and  that  was 
all  made  in  this  case. 

As  to  this  marsh  ever  going  back  again,  of  course  it  will, 
if  it  is  not  taken  care  of.  -Any  fool  can  see  that  if  the  tide 
gate  is  not  kept  in  order,  the  sea  water  will  come  in,  and 
the  salt  grasses  will  grow  again.  But  any  fool  in  Hooker- 
town  will  tell  you  that  Tim  Bunker  knows  enough  to  keep 
a  tide  gate  in  order,  and  to  shut  out  "  crabs  "  and  "  eel- 
grass." 

The  letter  tries  to  make  a  handle  out  of  my  dress,  and 
on  this  subject  I  guess  I  am  posted  about  as  well  as  some 
of  my  neighbors.  I  believe  in  people's  dressing  according 
to  their  characters  and  their  business.  If  there  is  any 
thing  better  than  rubber  boots  for  a  ditch  half  full  of  wa 
ter,  I  should  like  to  see  it.  I  have  not  got  above  my  busi 
ness  of  farming  yet,  and  don't  expect  to  very  soon.  Some 
folks,  I  suppose,  like  Tucker  and  Jones,  if  they  should  be 
made  a  Justice,  or  elected  to  any  high  office,  would  not 
wear  anything  but  calf-skin,  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 
And  thereby  I  think  they  would  show  that  the  calf  was 
a  little  more  than  skin  deep. 

You  see,  Mr.  Editor,  this  matter  of  dress  is  of  more  im 
portance  than  most  people  think.  It  makes  or  ruins  a 
multitude  of  people,  and  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  these 
crashes  that  you  have  in  the  city,  every  few  years.  And 
to  begin  with,  as  Mr.  Spooner  would  say,  there  is  a  great 
deal  in  dressing  folks  up  with  the  right  kind  of  names, 
when  they  start  in  life.  I  don't  think  your  correspondents 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPEKS.  Ill 

were  as  lucky  in  their  names  as  they  might  have  been. 
George  Washington  Tucker  and  Benjamin  Franklin  Jones 
sound  considerable  grand  and  fixed  up,  as  if  a  man  would 
have  to  stoop  some  when  he  come  into  the  room  where  such 
people  lived.  But  I  guess  if  you  knew  the  folks  that  wear 
them  as  well  as  I  do,  you  would  not  think  there  was  much 
call  for  manners.  You  see,  Tucker's  father  was  never 
worth  a  red  cent  in  the  world,  above  the  clothes  he  had 
upon  his  back,  and  his  mother  had  more  pretensions  than 
any  woman  of  her  size  I  ever  knew.  He  was  a  tailor  by 
trade,  and  spent  all  his  earnings  upon  broadcloth  and  silk, 
for  himself  and  wife.  I  remember  when  parasols  first  came 
round,  Tucker  got  one  for  his  wife,  and  she  was  so  anx 
ious  to  show  it,  that  she  carried  it  to  meeting  with  her,  and 
hoisted  it  in  meeting  time,  just  as  Mr.  Spooner  begun  his 
sermon,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Tucker's  Avife  is  some  pum- 
kins  arter  all."  The  way  the  minister  looked  at  her  was 
a  caution  to  all  peacocks,  dogs,  and  other  vermin.  Deacon 
Smith  had  to  come  over  and  tell  her  to  take  down  that 
windmill,  for  he  hadn't  seen  one  before,  and  he  did  not 
know  what  to  call  it.  Mrs.  Bunker  said,  "  she  thought  she 
would  have  sunk  into  the  earth." 

Well,  you  see,  when  their  first  child  was  born,  thinking, 
I  suppose,  that  they  would  not  have  much  else  to  give, 
they  gave  him  the  name  of  Geo.  Washington  Tucker. 
Kow,  what's  the  use  of  dressing  up  a  poor  boy  with  such 
a  big  sounding  name  ?  You  see,  it  makes  too  heavy  a  load 
for  an  ordinary  mortal  to  carry  through  life.  If  he  ever 
makes  anything,  becomes  a  business  man,  it  is  a  great 
waste  of  paper  and  ink  to  have  to  write  so  long  a  name. 
And  if  he  don't  make  anything,  he  becomes  a  standing 
joke  like  the  present  George  Washington  Tucker.  He  has 
always  lived  in  a  hired  house,  and  worked  hired  land,  when 
he  worked  any.  To  tell  the  plain  truth,  he  has  never  hurt 
himself  with  work  of  any  kind,  and  though  a  farmer,  has 
been  about  as  shy  of  the  dirt  as  his  father  was  before  him. 


112  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

I  suppose  it's  wicked,  but  I  never  see  him  in  meeting  with 
out  thinking  of  that  parasol  forty  years  ago.  The  green 
of  that  silk  went  as  straight  into  that  boy  as  if  he  had 
grown  on  a  mulberry  tree,  instead  of  being  born  like  other 
mortals. 

Jones  came  of  a  better  family.  His  father,  Gen'l  Jones, 
was  flourishing  forty  years  ago.  He  had  a  good  deal  of 
money  left  him  by  his  father,  and  married  rich.  The  Gen 
eral  was  mighty  fond  of  cocked  hats,  epaulets,  and  other 
military  fixings,  and  his  wife  was  fond  of  French  fashions 
and  extravagant  dress.  They  used  to  drive  through  the 
street  in  Hookertown,  in  a  splendid  carriage,  drawn  by 
a  pair  of  black  horses,  with  harness  glittering  with  silver 
buckles  and  mountings.  Nobody  held  their  heads  higher 
than  the  Joneses  of  the  last  generation.  The  General's 
house  was  crowded  with  gay  company  from  the  city,  his 
wife  and  daughters  dressed  splendidly,  and  gave  brilliant 
parties,  where  the  wine  flowed  like  water,  and  the  dance 
and  song  lasted  till  morning. 

The  Gen'l  died  a  bankrupt  when  the  present  Benjamin 
Franklin  Jones  was  a  boy  of  ten.  Of  course  the  property 
had  to  be  sold,  and  Ben  had  to  go  to  work  for  a  living, 
which  was  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  him,  or 
any  other  man,  according  to  my  notion.  He,  however, 
had  got  some  high  notions  in  his  childhood,  that  have  pre 
vented  him  from  succeeding  in  life.  He  has  never  loved 
work,  like  one  who  has  grubbed  in  the  dirt  from  the  time 
he  could  grasp  a  hoe  handle.  You  must  begin  early  with 
the  boys,  if  you  want  to  make  them  love  work.  Rub  their 
noses  in  it  as  soon  as  they  can  run,  and  they  will  always 
love  the  smell  of  mother  earth,  as  long  as  they  live.  But 
if  you  dress  them  in  fine  clothes  until  they  are  ten  and 
twelve,  and  then  try  to  break  them  in,  it  is  just  like  break 
ing  in  a  six  year  old  pair  of  cattle — mighty  hard  work. 

To  state  the  case  just  as  it  is,  Benjamin  Franklin  Jones 
is  too  much  afraid  of  dirtying  his  clothes,  to  get  along  in 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  113 

life.  And  these  are  the  kind  of  folks,  you  see,  that  are 
laughing  at  Tim  Bunker's  old  hat  and  long-legged  boots, 
and  talking  of  throwing  stones  because  I  live  in  a  glass 
house.  They  have  the  advantage  of  me  in  flinging  stones, 
for  they  haven't  got  any  houses  at  all,  of  their  own,  if  I 
should  want  to  throw  back  again.  My  hat  is  old,  as  they 
say,  but  it  is  paid  for,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of 
the  hats  of  my  illustrious  neighbors,  George  Washington 
Tucker  and  Benjamin  Franklin  Jones.  One  was  won  in  a 
bet  at  the  last  presidential  election,  and  the  other  has 
been  charged  in  the  merchant's  book  for  more  than  three 
years. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  Oct.  12th,  1859. 


NO.  36.— A  WEDDING   AMONG    TIM   BUNKER'S 
NEIGHBORS. 


The  connection  between  city  and  country  is  getting  to 
be  so  intimate,  by  means  of  railways  and  steamers,  that 
the  change  of  customs  is  almost  as  complete  in  the  rural 
districts,  as  in  the  metropolis.  All  along  the  great  thor 
oughfares,  the  Paris  fashions  are  as  omnipotent  as  in  this 
goodly  city  of  Gotham.  Marriage  ceremonies  are  cele 
brated  with  about  as  much  pomp  and  show,  and  as  little 
good  sense,  as  in  the  higher  circles  of  city  life.  There  are, 
however,  quiet  nooks  in  the  older  States,  remote  from  the 
sound  of  steamer  and  locomotive,  where  the  stream  of  life 
flows  on  with  hardly  a  ripple  upon  its  surface.  There, 
people  by  scores  boast  that  they  have  never  seen  a  steamer, 


114  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

and  have  never  been  inside  of  a  rail  car.  They  have  come 
little  in  contact  with  the  outside  world,  and  maintain  a 
freshness  and  individuality  of  character,  rarely  met  with 
in  our  times.  There,  the  social  parties  all  have  utility  as 
their  basis,  and  the  flowers  of  the  heart  come  up  blooming 
around  the  edges  of  quiltings,  apple-parings,  and  Dorcas 
sewing  societies.  There,  the  "  meeting-house  "  is  the  or 
thodox  name  for  the  church  edifice,  and  the  social  as  well 
as  the  religious  centre  of  the  parish.  There,  the  rural  pop 
ulation  gather  on  Sundays,  in  costume  not  squared  to  the 
fashionable  cut,  and  hats  and  bonnets  of  the  venerable  age 
of  ten  years  and  upwards  are  still  visible.  There,  sparks 
lit  up  between  services,  or  even  during  sermon,  are  pro 
longed  into  Sunday  night  sparking,  and  the  nine  o'clock 
bell  reminds  lovers,  as  well  as  more  sleepy  people,  that  it 
is  time  to  be  at  home.  There,  courtship  makes  haste  slow 
ly,  and  a  love  affair  is  not  suffered  to  blossom  into  mar 
riage,  until  it  is  fully  discussed  by  all  the  gossips  in  town. 
Hookertown  is  on  the  borders  of  such  a  quiet  region, 
and  there  may  be  seen  occasionally  in  the  street  of  that 
somewhat  noted  village,  natives  of  the  unsophisticated 
rural  districts — men  and  women  who  preserve  the  fresh 
ness  and  simplicity  of  fifty  years  ago,  who  insist  upon  mar 
rying  their  daughters  very  much  as  themselves  were 
wedded  in  the  good  old  times.  Esquire  Bunker  has  given 
us  occasional  glimpses  of  this  past  age,  in  his  letters,  and 
it  is  with  a  view  to  furnish  us  another  sample  of  this  Arca 
dian  life,  we  presume,  that  he  sent  us  the  following  note  a 
few  days  ago. 

Hookertown,  Nov.  10th,  1859. 

MR.  EDITOR: — When  your  reporter  was  up  here  in 
Hookertown,  last  year,  to  take  notes  on  clover  fields,  and 
stumbled  on  a  wedding  at  my  house,  he  was  considerable 
tickled  with  the  way  they  do  up  such  things  in  the  coun 
try,  and  thought  he  should  like  to  come  again.  Now,  if 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  115 

that  fellow  has  any  kind  of  hankering  to  see  a  real  country 
wedding,  let  him  come  up  and  see  Kier  Frink  married  next 
week.  Hookertown  has  got  a  good  deal  corrupted  by 
city  folks  coming  in  among  us,  especially  since  I  begun  to 
write  for  the  paper,  and  I  guess  half  of  the  people  dress 
about  as  smart  as  the  common  run  of  folks  in  the  city. 
But  there  is  a  region  up  around  Smithville,  where-  they  do 
up  things  just  as  they  did  when  I  was  a  boy.  Kier  has 
been  a  courting  ever  since  the  eighteen-year-old-fever  came 
on  him,  and  they  say  he  had  been  out  a  sparking  when  he 
let  the  cattle  into  my  corn  field  last  summer.  At  any  rate, 
things  have  come  to  a  crisis,  and  he  has  just  told  John  that 
he  was  "  going  to  be  tied  next  week,"  and  given  him  an 
invite  to  the  wedding.  John  will  take  your  man  over  if 
he  comes. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

We  looked  after  the  matter,  and  here  follows  a 

CONDENSED  REPORT  OF  "  OUR  OWN    REPORTER." 
"FRINK,  FAGINS.— At  the  Whiteoaks,  Ct.,  on  Thursday,  Nov.  17th, 
by  the  Rev.  Jacob  Spooner,  Hezekiah  Frink,  of  Hookertown,  to  Widow 
Jerusha  Fagins,  of  the  former  place." 

The  above  announcement  in  the  Hookertown  Gazette, 
of  this  week,  will  attest  that  the  joyful  event,  which  called 
your  reporter  away  from  the  city,  has  transpired.  The 
"  Whiteoaks,"  you  must  know,  is  not  a  distinct  township, 
but  a  neighborhood  name,  attached  to  one  of  the  school 
districts  in  Smithtown,  whereof  Smithville  is  the  com 
mercial  centre — the  grocery  being  located  there,  where  the 
good  housewives  barter  butter  and  eggs,  for  sugar,  tea, 
and  molasses.  The  Whiteoaks  being  remote  from  the 
social  centre  of  the  town,  and  without  religious  privileges, 
has  always  been  a  hard  neighborhood,  and  never  seemed 
to  belong  to  Connecticut.  Men  of  broken  down  fortune, 
and  men  who  never  had  any  fortune  of  any  kind,  gravitat 
ed  thither  as  naturally  as  crows  toward  a  dead  carcass.  It 


116  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

was  the  paradise  of  horse  jockeys,  loafers,  gamblers,  and 
drunkards.  The  people  lived  partly  by  farming,  partly 
by  burning  charcoal,  and  partly  by  their  wits.  They 
were  always  ready  to  swap  horses  and  oxen,  when  they 
had  any,  and  the  juvenility  of  the  breed  of  cattle  raised  in 
these  parts  was  always  a  marvel.  A  horse  was  never 
owned  among  the  Whiteoakers,  acknowledged  to  be  over 
eight  years  of  age,  but  always  sound  and  well  broken  to 
both  harness  and  saddle,  whether  he  had  ever  been  inside 
of  thills  or  not.  In  this  interesting  region,  where  law  and 
morals  take  care  of  themselves,  lived,  a  year  since,  Theo- 
philus  Fagins  and  his  wife  Jerusha,  with  about  a  fair  aver 
age  of  the  happiness  allotted  to  the  Whiteoak  community. 
Between  coaling,  horse  trading,  and  drinking  in  the  neigh 
boring  village,  Theophilus  came  to  an  untimely  end  last 
winter,  leaving  a  disconsolate  widow  and  six  children. 
She  had  reached  the  mature  age  of  fifty,  but  had  not  out 
lived  the  tender  passion,  as  the  sequel  shows. 

While  her  love  lay  a  bleeding,  in  the  susceptible  days 
of  spring,  Kier  Frink  was  introduced  to  her  by  one  of  the 
coal-men  returning  from  Ilookertown.  Kier  was  charmed 
with  Whiteoak  society,  and  particularly  with  the  blandish 
ments  of  the  widow,  who  did  everything  to  make  his  visits 
agreeable.  There  was  no  rigid  Sabbath  keeping,  and  not 
much  going  to  meeting,  but  plenty  of  tobacco  and  cheap 
rum,  with  an  occasional  shooting  match,  or  horse  race,  in 
the  neighborhood.  The  widow  had  a  house  and  small  farm 
left  her,  and  it  seemed  to  Kier  that  his  fortune  would  be 
easily  made,  if  he  could  step  into  the  shoes  of  the  departed 
Theophilus. 

This  he  essayed  to  do,  and  notwithstanding  his  youth 
and  bashfulness,  he  was  accepted  by  the  widow,  and  the 
nuptials  were  appointed  at  an  early  day.  I  learned  from 
John  Bunker,  who  took  me  over  to  the  Whiteoaks,  that 
Jake  Frink  had  no  objections  to  the  match,  though  the 
woman  was  old  enough  to  be  Kier's  mother.  Jake  was 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  117 

accustomed  to  say,  "Taint  every  young  man  that  can 
marry  a  'spectable  widder,  with  a  farm  of  50  acres,  well 
watered  and  timbered.  I  allers  knew  Kier  would  come  to 
suthing,  and  now  ye  see." 

A  short  horse  is  soon  curried,  and  this  wedding  being 
the  briefest  we  ever  attended,  is  soon  despatched.  It  ap 
peared  to  excite  about  as  much  attention  in  the  neighbor 
hood  as  a  horse  trade,  and  the  parties  themselves  manifest 
ly  looked  upon  it  as  an  every-day  business.  We  shall 
leave  to  your  imagination,  to  picture  Kier,  with  the  down 
of  youth  upon  bis  chin,  leading  the  widow  with  her  bloom 
ing  charms  to  the  altar,  clasping  of  ungloved  hands  after 
a  ludicrous  fumbling  for  the  dexter  digits,  the  few  words 
of  the  minister  that  made  the  twain  one,  the  snickering  of 
the  young  ones,  to  whom  the  sight  of  a  marriage  cere 
mony  was  a  novelty,  the  awful  pause  that  followed  the 
prayer,  and  the  final  dispersion  of  the  company.  The 
most  impressive  part  of  the  proceedings  was  the  distribu 
tion  of  molasses  gingerbread,  which  answered  for  the 
bridal  loaf,  and  the  manifest  appetite  of  the  groom  for  that 
admirable  confection.  The  widow  Fagins  had  learned  the 
special  weakness  of  her  betrothed,  and  provided  for  the 
occasion.  In  this  instance,  a  wedding  is  about  as  nearly 
stripped  of  its  poetry  as  we  ever  remember  to  have  seen  it. 
Connecticut  is  a  great  country,  containing  a  good  many 
types  of  people.  The  Whiteoakers  are  a  nation  by  them 
selves.  I  had  to  tell  Esq.  Bunker  that  my  hankering  to 
see  a  Simon  Pure  country  wedding  was  cured  up.  The 
minister's  fee  was  seventy-five  cents,  all  in  quarters. 

YOUK  REPORTER. 

REMARKS. — We  suspect  Squire  Bunker  must  have  in 
fluenced  our  reporter  somewhat,  for  he,  (our  reporter,) 
generally  looks  upon  the  bright  side  of  every  occurrence. 
A  "  Simon  Pure  country  wedding  "  always  has  its  pleasant 
features — though  in  this  case  it  is  but  just  to  say,  in  ex- 


118  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

cuse  of  our  reporter,  that  we  should  have  found  it  rather 
difficult  to  keep  out  of  our  thoughts  the  character  of  Kier 
Frink,  his  bringing  up,  etc.  The  history  of  this  young 
man  and  its  finale  is  instructive  to  parents,  and  on  this 
account  we  have  given  it  a  prominence  which  would  other 
wise  be  questionable. — ED. 


NO.  37.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  SAVING  A  SIX 
PENCE. 

HOW    HE    BEAT    JAKE   FRLJSTK. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  hadn't  calculated  to  write  at  all  this 
month,  until  I  got  your  letter.  I  never  was  much  of  a 
hand  for  indoor  work,  and  could  always  use  a  crowbar 
enough  sight  better  than  a  goose  quill.  I  must  say  I  like 
to  make  tracks  upon  the  soil  a  great  deal  better  than  upon 
paper.  When  you  have  turned  over  an  acre  of  sod  a  day, 
with  a  deep  tiller,  it  kind  o'  looks  as  if  you  had  done  some 
thing.  I  have  a  natural  affection  for  such  furrows ;  but 
these  scratches  upon  paper  are  rather  small  potatoes,  and 
few  in  the  hill.  If  it  wa'n't  that  I  had  got  interested  in  the 
farmers  who  read  your  paper,  and  could  sort  of  feel  their 
hands  in  mine,  I  would  never  touch  a  quill  again. 

Your  letter  found  me  down  on  that  bit  of  swamp  pas 
ture,  that  I  bought  of  Jake  Frink,  and  uriderdrained  last 
year — where  I  cured  the  horse-pond.  I  was  just  putting 
down  a  new  bridge  across  the  ditch,  that  I  had  left  open 
on  the  back  side  of  the  lot.  There  was  an  old  bridge  a 
dozen  rods  above,  going  into  another  lot,  that  Jake  had 
built  when  he  owned  it,  several  years  ago.  Neighbor 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  119 

Frink,  you  will  remember,  beat  me  on  carrots  at  the  fair, 
in  a  way  that  was  not  fair.  I  have  always  felt  bound  to 
keep  up  a  decent  kind  of  resentment  ever  since,  and  to  beat 
him  in  as  many  honorable  ways  as  possible. 

Well  now,  there  was  that  old  bridge,  the  work  of  Jake 
Frink,  and  looking  just  like  him  in  a  good  many  respects. 
It  answered  its  purpose  well  enough,  but  it  cost  just  about 
four  times  as  much  as  it  need  to.  A  four-inch  pipe  would 
carry  all  the  water  that  ever  run  in  the  ditch,  even  in  time 
of  a  spring  thaw.  But  Jake  had  built  a  stone  culvert  two 
feet  square,  and  covered  it  with  heavy  stone  slabs,  as  if  a 
large  brook  was  always  running  through.  It  must  have 
cost  him  twelve  or  fifteen  dollars,  reckoning  labor  at  any 
thing  like  a  fair  price. 

And  here  is  a  point  I  think  of  a  good  deal  of  importance 
to  farmers.  There  are  not  more  than  half  of  them  that 
do  a  thing  in  the  best  and  cheapest  way.  They  don't 
save  a  sixpence  where  they  might  just  as  well  as  not. 
What  is  the  use  of  walling  off  land  into  two-acre  lots, 
when  ten  and  twenty-acre  lots  are  a  good  deal  more  con 
venient  ?  Why,  some  men  up  here  in  Connecticut  have 
kept  themselves  cramped  for  money  all  their  days,  by 
building  stone-fences  where  they  wefe  not  wanted.  What 
is  the  use  of  burning  out  twenty  cords  of  wood  to  keep 
warm,  when  you  can  do  it  a  great  deal  better  with  half 
the  quantity  ?  Good  stoves  in  a  house  save  fifty  dollars 
a  year  mighty  easy.  What  is  the  use  of  taking  four  acres 
to  grow  a  hundred  bushels  of  corn,  when  you  can  grow  it 
cheaper  upon  one  ?  What  is  the  use  of  paying  fifteen  dol 
lars  for  a  bridge  across  a  ditch,  when  you  can  have  one 
just  as  good  and  durable  for  three  ? 

It  was  curious  to  hear  my  neighbors  speculate,  when  I 
got  the  things  together  to  make  the  bridge. 

"  Going  to  set  up  a  crockery-shop,  Esq.  Bunker  ?"  said 
Uncle  Jotham,  as  he  struck  the  tiles  with  his  staff. 


120  THE    TIM    I3UNKEK   PAPERS. 

"What  new  tricks  you  got  in  your  head  neow?"  asked 
Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  thought  of  the  tiles  and  the  brain  ma 
nure  in  the  garden. 

"  Going  to  dig  a  grave,  and  brick  it  up  ?"  asked  Jake 
Frink,  as  he  looked  over  the  fence. 

''  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Mr.  Frink — you  made  a  grave 
for  ten  or  twelve  dollars  in  your  bridge  up  yonder,  and  I 
think  there  has  been  grave-digging  enough  of  that  kind 
in  this  bit  of  land." 

I  had  got  a  dozen  horse-shoe  tile  of  seven-inch  size,  cost 
ing,  all  told,  just  one  dollar ;  and  a  white  oak  plank  two 
inches  thick,  twelve  feet  long,  and  about  a  foot  wide, 
sound  as  a  nut — cost,  fifty  cents.  I  laid  the  plank  upon  the 
mud  in  the  bottom  of  the  ditch,  about  three  inches  under 
the  water.  I  then  put  the  tile  upon  the  plank,  covering 
them  with  a  lot  of  old  straw,  and  then  packed  in  the  turf, 
grass  side  down,  over  them,  and  filled  up  with  gravel  from 
a  neighboring  hill.  There  was  about  a  half-day's  work 
carting  dirt,  and  the  whole  was  finished.  That  oak  plank, 
I  calculate,  will  last  a  good  deal  longer  than  I  shall,  and 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  my  grandchildren  found  it  as  sound 
as  it  is  to-day.  The  tile  will  last  as  long  as  brick  in  a 
chimney.  The  whole  cost  of  the  bridge  is  not  over  three 
dollars,  and  it  is  quite  as  durable,  and  a  good  deal  more 
ornamental,  than  that  rough  stone  affair  that  cost  fifteen. 
The  fact  is,  I  am  getting  sick  of  the  sight  of  stone  above 
ground,  except  in  line  walls,  since  I  have  begun  to  drain, 
and  to  use  a  horse-mower.  I  can't  help  thinking,  how 
much  better  they  would  pay  in  a  good  stone  culvert  under 
the  sod,  or  even  in  raising  up  the  land  in  swampy  places. 
On  the  surface  they  are  unsightly,  they  take  up  a  good 
deal  of  room,  and  are  always  in  the  way  of  the  plow  and 
the  mower.  Beneath  the  sod,  they  are  out  of  the  way, 
and  are  saving  the  sixpences  in  carrying  off  the  excess  of 
water.  There  is  nothing  on  the  farm  so  handsome  as  a 
clean  green  meadow,  just  ready  for  the  scythe. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  121 

I  guess  I  have  beat  Jake  Frink  twelve  dollars  on  the 
bridge,  and  that  will  do  to  set  over  agin  the  carrots. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER. 
HooJcertown,  Dec.  15,  1859. 


38.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  GIVING  LAND  A 
START. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — "  What  are  ye  gwine  to  du  with  that 
'ere  bag  of  Scotch  Snuff?  "  asked  Jake  Frink  one  morning, 
as  he  looked  at  a  lot  of  Peruvian  No.  1,  just  landed  at 
my  barn  door. 

"  Who  has  a  better  right  to  have  a  quilting  than  Mrs. 
Bunker,  and  to  entertain  the  old  ladies  with  a  pinch  of 
the  Scotch  dust?"  I  asked  by  way  of  rejoinder,  and  to 
stimulate  Jake's  curiosity,  which  was  already  wide  awake. 

"I  thought  snuff  allers  come  in  bladders,"  suggested 
Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  blew  out  a  column  of  smoke,  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  locomotive. 

"  How  du  ye  know  but  what  it  is  a  whale's  bladder !  " 
inquired  Tucker,  who  had  been  to  sea,  and  was  anxious 
to  show  off  his  nautical  knowledge  to  Mr.  Twiggs. 

"  That's  guanner,  ye  fools !"  remarked  Uncle  Jotham 
Sparrowgrass,  with  a  very  emphatic  blow  of  his  cane  up 
on  the  ground.  "  Haven't  ye  never  seen  any  guanner  ? 
I've  seen  it  a  dozen  year  ago,  over  on  the  Island — Judge 
Randall  tried  it  time  and  agin. — Never  could  make  much 
out  of  it.  He  got  one  or  tu  decent  crops,  and  then  the 
land  fell  off,  worse  than  ever.  The  Judge  said  it  was  a 
groat  humbug.  Guess  he's  right." 


122  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

"  Ye  aint  a  gwine  to  put  that  on  tu  the  land,  be  ye, 
Squire  Bunker  ?  "  inquired  Jake  with  an  astonished  look. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  did." 

This  conversation  with  my  neighbors,  two  years  ago, 
shows  the  general  impression  about  guano  in  any  commu 
nity,  when  it  is  first  introduced.  I  had  got  it  to  try  an 
experiment  on  some  poor  land,  that  lay  off  a  couple  of 
miles  from  my  house.  I  suppose  a  man  ought  to  apologize 
for  owning  land  so  far  from  home,  for  it  is  certainly  very 
bad  husbandry.  The  expense  of  cultivating  it  is  nearly 
double  that  of  a  home  lot,  and  manuring  with  stable  dung 
at  that  distance  is  out  of  the  question.  The  fuct  is,  the 
land  belongs  to  Mrs.  Bunker,  and,  as  it  came  from  her  fa 
ther,  she  never  felt  like  selling  it.  It  has  been  used  for 
pasture  ever  since  I  can  remember.  For  the  last  ten  years 
I  have  not  been  very  particular  about  pasturing  it,  for 
there  was  not  much  grass  there  to  be  eaten.  It  was  mis 
erable  old  plain  land,  and  had  once  been  a  light  sandy 
loam,  before  the  loam  was  carried  off  in  crops.  It  bore 
five-fingers  and  moss  pretty  well,  was  fair  for  pennyroyal, 
and  famous  for  mulleins  and  sweet  fern.  The  sheep  had 
worn  little  paths  around  among  these  brush,  and  if  sheep 
have  any  virtue  to  restore  exhausted  land,  that  field  never 
found  it  out.  I  suppose  all  the  vegetable  matter  that 
grew  upon  an  acre,  if  it  could  have  been  gathered,  would 
not  have  weighed  two  hundred  pounds.  It  used  to  be 
said  of  it,  that  it  was  too  poor  to  bear  worms  and  insects, 
so  that  skunks  had  to  starve  or  emigrate. 

We  have  a  great  deal  of  such  land  in  all  the  old 
States,  thoroughly  worn  out,  and  not  paying  the  interest 
on  three  dollars  an  acre,  to  their  present  owners.  They 
are  generally  farmers  in  moderate  circumstances,  and  have 
no  spare  capital  to  give  such  land  a  start,  and  it  lies  idle 
and  worthless.  I  thought  it  was  worth  trying  to  give 
this  out-lot  a  chance  to  do  a  little  better  by  itself  and  its 
owner.  My  plan  was  to  turn  in  green  crops,  a  process  in 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPEKS.  123 

husbandry  that  no  body  practices  in  this  neighborhood. 
I  had  read  of  it  in  my  Agriculturist,  and  thought  it  was 
just  the  thing  for  lots  too  far  off  from  the  barn  to  be  ma 
nured  from  the  stable.  The  trouble  was  to  get  the  green 
crop  to  turn  under. 

I  thought  the  guano  would  probably  start  rye,  and 
with  this  I  could  make  a  beginning.  I  plowed  up  five 
acres  two  years  ago  in  October,  and  put  on  five  bags  of 
guano,  or  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to  the  acre. 
The  rye  came  tip  well,  and  looked  a  remarkably  dark 
green,  and  by  the  time  snow  fell,  the  ground  was  well 
covered  with  a  thick  mat  of  rye.  That  rye  made  a  good 
deal  of  talk,  and  even  on  Sunday  it  used  to  be  discussed 
between  meetings,  when  folks  ought  to  have  been  think 
ing  on  other  matters.  It  passed  the  winter  well,  got  a 
good  start  in  the  spring,  and  by  the  middle  of  May, 
the  heads  began  to  appear.  It  stood  thick,  and  was 
thought  to  be  one  of  the  best  looking  pieces  of  rye  in  town. 
It  went  against  the  grain  amazingly  to  turn  it  under,  for 
according  to  the  look,  I  should  have  had  fifteen  bushels  to 
the  acre. 

About  the  middle  of  June,  John  and  I  went  into  it, 
with  two  teams,  to  plow  it  under ;  for  I  had  made  my  plan, 
and  was  not  to  be  turned  aside  by  the  talk  of  my  neigh 
bors.  Tucker  and  Jones  said  it  was  a  great  shame  to 
spoil  such  a  field  of  grain,  and  even  Mr.  Spooner  remark 
ed,  that  making  manure  of  bread  stuff  did  not  seem  to  be 
very  good  economy.  Now,  you  see,  I  did  not  care  so 
much  what  George  Washington  Tucker  and  Benjamin 
Franklin  Jones  said,  but  I  did  not  like  to  be  undervalued 
by  the  minister.  So  said  I  to  Mr.  Spooner :  "  A  thing  al 
ways  looks  homely  until  it's  finished;  and  you  just  wait 
till  I  get  through  with  this  field,  before  you  make  up  your 
mind." 

The  rye  was  plowed  under,  and  the  ground  turned  up 
about  two  inches  deeper  than  ever  before.  In  about  a 


124  THE    TIM   BUXKEB   PA  I 

fortnight  I  sowed  buckwheat,  harrowing  it  in  with  about 
the  same  quantity  of  guano  that  I  had  used  in  the  rye. 
The  buckwheat  came  up  and  grew  more  rankly  than  any 
thing  I  ever  saw  before.  All  the  neighbors  were  astonish 
ed  at  the  monstrous  growth,  and  most  astonished  when  I 
brought  out  the  teams,  the  last  of  August,  to  turn  it  un 
der.  They  said  Tim  Bunker  must  be  crazy  to  make  ma 
nure  of  the  heaviest  crop  of  buckwheat  in  town.  But  the 
buckwheat  went  under,  notwithstanding.  The  last  of  Sep 
tember,  I  sowed  with  rye  again,  and  as  I  had  put  two 
green  crops  under  the  sod,  I  thought  the  land  had  got 
start  enough  to  take  care  of  itself  I  sowed  with  the  rye, 
clover  and  herds-grass  seed,  calculating  that  these  would 
take  the  ground,  when  the  rye  came  off.  Last  July  I  har 
vested  from  that  five-acre  field,  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  bushels  of  rye,  worth  as  many  dollars.  They  have  got 
to  making  paper  out  of  the  straw,  so  that  I  got  ten  dol 
lars  a  tun  for  that,  or  about  seventy-five  dollars. 

Now,  every  man  who  is  used  to  ciphering  can  tell 
whether  the  operation  paid  or  not.  The  crop,  I  consider 
worth  two  hundred  dollars,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fine 
catch  of  grass,  which  now  promises  at  least  a  tun  and  a 
half  of  hay  to  the  acre.  The  cost  of  the  manure  was 
about  forty-five  dollars.  The  labor  of  plowing,  sowincr, 
harvesting,  and  the  grass  seed  would,  perhaps,  swell  the 
cost  of  the  improvement  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
This  leaves  a  handsome  sum  on  the  right  side  of  the  bal 
ance  sheet,  and  the  land  in  much  better  condition.  The 
old  plain  would  have  been  well  sold  at  five  dollars  an  acre, 
for  it  did  not  pay  the  interest  on  half  that  sum.  I  should 
not  want  to  sell  now  at  ten  dollars  an  acre.  The  experi 
ment  has  work'-d  much  better  than  I  thought  it  would. 

Now,  I  think  we  have  here  a  hint  as  to  the  economical 
way  of  giving  land  a  start.  If  it  lies  near  the  barn,  where 
manure  can  be  carted  cheaply,  the  stable  manure  is  the 
best  renovator.  If  it  lies  at  a  distance,  it  can  be  done  with 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  12.") 

Peruvian  No.  1  and  green  crops,  and  it  is  much  bettor  to 
do  it  with  this  than  to  have  it  lie  idle.  Mrs.  Bunker  is  as 
much  pleased  with  the  result  as  any  body,  for  she  says  "  it 
lias  always  distressed  her  to  have  any  thing  belonging  to 
the  Bunker  family  lying  idle." 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 
Hoofartown,  Dec.  10th,  1859. 


39.— TDI  BUNKER  ON  GIVING  BOYS  A 
START. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — "  Be  sure  you're  right  then  go  ahead.'* 
Davy  Crockett  got  out  considerable  truth  when  he  started 
that  proverb.  I  guess  it  is  about  as  applicable  to  starting 
boys  in  life,  as  it  is  to  starting  land  on  a  right  course  to 
make  it  profitable.  Now  you  may  take  poor,  run-down 
land,  and  plow  it,  and  crop  it,  as  much  as  you  have  a  mind 
to,  and  you  can't  make  it  pay  for  the  labor  of  working. 
It  needs  the  right  start  to  begin  with,  and  then  you  can 
go  ahead  and  get  pay  for  cultivating. 

Now  a  great  many  folks  make  the  same  mistake  with 
their  boys  that  I  did  in  working  Mrs.  Bunker's  dowry 
lots,  until  I  begun  to  turn  in  green  crops.  They  don't 
give  'em  the  right  start.  A  good  many  work  their  boys 
till  they  are  twenty-one,  and  then  send  them  off  to  shift 
for  themselves,  without  capital,  and  without  any  expe 
rience  in  the  earning  and  use  of  money.  They  stint  them 
on  schooling  in  the  latter  part  of  their  minority,  because 
their  work  is  worth  as  much  as  a  man's.  They  seem  to 
have  as  little  regard  for  the  future  welfare  of  the  bov  as 


126  THE    TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

they  do  for  their  land  when  they  get  all  they  can  out  of 
it  without  putting  on  any  manure.  They  pay  very  little 
attention  to  their  morals,  and  before  they  know  it,  the  boy 
has  learned  to  chew  tobacco,  smoke,  drink,  and  swear,  and 
perhaps  to  rob  water-melon  patches,  and  hen-roosts.  He 
comes  up  to  manhood  a  Kier  Frink,  fond  of  low  company, 
and  ready  for  any  mischief  that  offers.  They  do  not  see 
their  mistake  until  it  is  too  late  to  mend  it. 

Now,  you  see,  to  give  boys  the  right  start,  you  must  be 
gin  early  with  them.  If  you  don't  get  right  notions  into 
their  heads  before  they  are  twenty-one,  I  guess  you  might 
as  well  give  them  up.  You  can't  begin  too  soon  to  culti 
vate  their  hearts,  and  to  teach  them  to  respect  the  rights 
of  their  Maker  and  the  rights  of  their  fellow-men.  Some 
seem  to  think  it  makes  no  difference  what  sort  of  princi 
ples  a  young  man  adopts,  or  what  habits  he  forms.  I 
have  lived  long  enough  to  see  that  there  is  nothing  pays 
so  well  in  the  long  run  as  correct  moral  habits.  These 
make  a  young  man  entirely  reliable,  and  his  friends  can 
trust  him  in  any  business.  Any  one  of  the  vices  to  which 
so  many  boys  are  addicted  is  a  great  pecuniary  damage. 
It  is  just  like  contracting  a  heavy  debt  at  the  beginning 
of  life,  and  having  to  pay  interest  all  through.  You  may 
safely  put  down  the  use  of  tobacco  as  a  debt  of  five 
thousand  dollars,  the  use  of  intoxicating  drinks  as  five 
thousand  more,  and  swearing,  lying,  and  theft,  at  about 
the  same  figures.  A  young  man  wants  nothing  so  much, 
when  starting  in  business,  as  the  confidence  of  his  fellows. 
This  must  be  based  upon  his  character. 

But  when  we  have  got  a  boy's  heart  and  morals  all 
right,  there  is  something  else  to  be  done  for  him.  A  man, 
however  upright,  will  not  succeed  without  industrious 
habits,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  value  of  money,  which  is 
one  of  the  best  incentives  to  industry.  There  is  only  one 
way  in  which  we  can  estimate  money  at  its  proper  value, 
and  that  is  to  earn  it.  A  silver  dollar  represents  a  day's 


THE    TIM    BUXKER    PAPEHS.  127 

work  of  the  laborer.  If  it  is  given  to  a  boy,  he  has  no 
idea  of  what  it  has  cost,  or  of  what  it  is  worth.  He  would 
be  as  likely  to  give  a  dollar  as  a  dime  for  a  top,  or  any 
other  toy.  But  if  the  boy  has  learned  to  earn  his  dimes 
and  dollars  by  the  sweat  of  his  face,  he  knows  the  differ 
ence.  The  painful  stretch  of  his  muscles  through  the 
long  rows  of  corn,  or  at  the  plow  tail,  is  to  him  a  measure 
of  values,  that  can  never  be  rubbed  out  of  his  mind.  A 
hundred  dollars  represents  a  hundred  weary  days,  and  it 
seems  a  great  sum  of  money.  A  thousand  dollars  is  a 
fortune,  and  ten  thousand  is  almost  inconceivable,  for  it  is 
far  more  than  he  ever  expects  to  possess.  When  he  has 
earned  a  dollar,  he  thinks  twice  before  he  spends  it.  He 
wants  to  invest  it  so  as  to  get  the  full  value  of  a  day's 
work  for  it. 

It  is  a  great  wrong  to  society  and  to  a  boy  to  bring  him 
up  to  a  man's  estate  without  this  knowledge.  A  fortune 
at  twenty-one,  without  it,  is  almost  inevitably  thrown 
away.  With  it,  and  a  little  capital  to  start  on,  he  will 
make  his  own  fortune  better  than  any  one  can  make  it  for 
him.  The  most  of  the  capital  they  need  to  start  with, 
they  might  earn  in  their  minority.  It  is  better  for  farmers 
to  pay  their  boys  regular  wages,  beginning,  say,  when 
they  are  fourteen,  and  teaching  them  how  to  take  care  of 
it,  than  to  give  them  a  much  larger  sum  when  they  are 
of  age.  The  seven  years'  wages,  if  put  in  the  Saving's 
Bank,  in  annual  investments,  would  come  to  over  a  thous 
and  dollars,  and  with  this,  and  a  good  character,  and  in 
dustrious  habits,  a  young  farmer's  fortune  is  secure.  That 
is  double  the  capital  I  had  to  start  with ;  but  then  I  had 
Sally  Bunker  for  a  wife,  and  the  like  of  her  is  better  luck 
than  common  mortals  can  expect. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 

Hookertown,  Jan.  15th,  1860. 


128  THE    TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS. 

NO.  40.— JOTHAM  SPARROWGRASS  WITH  A 
TILE  IN  HIS  HEAD. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — "What's  comin  next !"  exclaimed  Tucker, 
as  he  saw  Jothain  Sparrowgrass'  team  drive  up  the  road 
with  a  load  of  tiles,  Uncle  Jotham  following  after  as  fast 
as  his  cane  could  carry  him. 

"  Should  sooner  have  thought  to  see  old  Sparrowgrass 
on  a  tin  peddler's  cart,  sellin  wash  basens  and  byin  rags," 
responded  Jones. 

"  Guess  he's  gwine  tu  set  up  a  krokery  shop  to  supply 
the  Whiteoakers  with  sass-pans  and  sich  like,"  answered 
Seth  Twiggs  with  a  side-long  glance  at  Kier  Frink,  as  he 
stood  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"  Sass-pans,  you  fool !  The  coal-men  have  got  beyond 
that,  I  ken  tell  yew,  and  use  tin  like  other  folks.  Guess  ye 
better  smoke  less  and  see  clearer,  Seth  Twiggs,"  responded 
Kier  Frink,  who  was  tender  of  the  reputation  of  the 
Whiteoakers,  and  felt  his  toes  trodden  upon  a  little. 

"  He  aint  a  gwine  to  du  nuthin  of  the  kind,"  added  Jake 
Frink.  "  Ye  see,  Uncle  Jotham  has  caught  Tim  Bunker's 
disease,  and  is  gwine  to  finish  up  that  land  round  the 
muskrat  pond.  He  pretends  that  he  don't  believe  any 
thing  in  the  Squire's  notions,  but  the  fact  is,  there  aint  a 
bigger  Bunkerite  in  town.  You  see,  old  Sparrowgrass 
was  born  when  the  sign  was  in  the  crab,  and  he  gets  at 
every  thing  sideways,  jest  like  one  of  them  'ere  fish." 

Jake  Frink  was  not  very  wide  of  the  mark  in  regard  to 
Uncle  Jotham's  disposition.  Ever  since  he  made  an  open 
drain  through  the  rim  of  his  pond,  and  drained  three  acres, 
summer  before  last,  he  has  talked  against  new-fangled  no 
tions  and  fancy  farming  a  little  louder  than  before.  He 
seemed  to  have  a  natural  amount  of  satisfaction  in  his 
victory  over  the  muskrats  and  the  tadpoles,  but  no  par- 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  129 

ticular  delight  in  the  dry  land.  But  I  could  see  all  the 
while,  that  he  was  getting  up  to  a  new  effort,  sideways, 
as  Jake  Frink  says.  I  loaned  him  the  paper,  and  found  he 
always  had  some  inquiries  to  make  about  draining,  how 
they  made  tiles,  how  the  water  got  into  them,  how  deep 
they  had  to  be  laid,  and  how  they  worked.  I  have  fre 
quently  found  him  down  at  my  horse-pond  lot,  running 
his  cane  into  the  ends  of  the  tiles,  where  they  empty  into 
the  ditch,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  it  was  real  water  that 
was  discharging  from  the  hole.  He  evidently  thought 
there  must  be  some  trick  about  it,  that  the  water  could 
not  get  into  tiles  after  they  were  laid.  But  there  was 
proof  in  that  horse-pond  lot  that  he  could  not  very  well 
get  away  from. 

I  have  been  studying  that  lot  some  myself,  this  winter. 
It  is  only  two  seasons  since  the  tiles  were  laid  there,  and 
you  would  be  surprised  to  see  what  a  change  the  surface 
of  the  land  has  undergone.  The  light  bluish  clay  that  I 
threw  out  from  the  bottoms  of  the  drains  and  spread 
around  upon  the  surface,  has  all  crumbled  to  pieces,  and 
got  to  be  about  as  dark  as  the  rest  of  the  soil.  I  have 
noticed  all  along  over  the  drains,  and  for  a  considerable 
distance  upon  each  side,  the  ground  becomes  dry  very  soon 
after  a  rain,  and  little  cracks  are  visible..  The  land  used 
to  be  so  full  of  water  that  no  air  got  into  it,  from  Novem 
ber  to  May.  Now  the  air  follows  every  rain,  and  every 
freezing  and  thawing  disturbs  the  whole  mass  of  the  soil 
several  inches  deep.  The  mechanical  improvement  of  the 
soil  seems  to  go  on  quite  as  rapidly  in  the  winter  as  in  the 
summer.  Jack  Frost,  I  guess,  is  about  as  good  a  friend 
as  the  farmer  has,  if  he  would  only  give  him  a  chance  to 
work.  The  tiles  make  a  path  for  him,  and  he  uses  up  the 
coarse  lumps  and  clods  a  little  better  than  any  harrow  I 
ever  tried. 

Uncle  Jothnm  has  doubtless  seen  these  things,  though 
he  has  said  nothing,  and  would  have  probably  declared 


130  THE    TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS. 

any  time  within  the  last  three  months,  that  tiles  were  the 
greatest  humbug  out,  in  his  candid  opinion. 

The  conversation  I  have  reported  among  the  wiseacres 
of  Hookertown,  occurred  last  fall.  A  few  days  after  I 
had  occasion  to  go  upon  the  Shadtown  road  to  see  what 
had  become  of  the  load  of  tiles.  I  found  Uncle  Jotham 
with  three  hands  and  a  team,  busy  making  ditches  on  the 
side  hills  around  the  drained  pond. 

"  Good  morning,  Uncle  Jotham.  I  thought  you  didn't 
believe  in  crockery — rather  pizen  to  the  land." 

"  Wai,  now,  Squire  Bunker,  to  tell  the  plain  truth,  this 
'ere  business  has  been  brewin  in  my  mind  ever  since  that 
horse-pond  of  yourn  was  dreened  off.  And  when  I  come 
to  let  the  water  off  here,  and  got  my  first  crop  on  land 
that  was  once  under  water,  I  had  to  cave  in  myself,  worse 
than  the  tadpoles,  when  the  water  left  them.  You  see, 
the  taters  I  raised  here  on  these  three  acres  the  first  sea 
son,  brought  me  five  hundred  dollars  delivered  at  the 
landing,  and  that  amount  of  money,  ye  see,  would  make 
tearin  work  with  almost  any  man's  prejudices.  I  found  I 
could  get  the  Hartford  tile  down  there  pretty  reasonable, 
and  I  jest  made  up  my  mind  to  finish  the  job.  Am  I  duin 
it  right,  Squire  Bunker  ?  " 

I  found  he  had  determined  to  put  in  drains  upon  all  the 
side  hills  sloping  down  to  the  reclaimed  meadow,  leaving 
the  drains  there  still  open.  These  hill  sides  embraced  four 
or  five  acres,  and  were  naturally  a  heavy  clay  soil,  always 
wet,  until  midsummer.  The  drains  were  about  three  feet 
deep,  and  I  found  he  had  got  a  man  used  to  the  business, 
to  do  the  work  in  the  best  manner.  I  have  frequently 
looked  over  the  ground  this  winter,  and  it  is  a  charming 
sight  to  see  the  various  colored  clays  and  rough  clods 
gradually  breaking  down  under  the  action  of  frost  and 
rain.  The  results,  of  course,  remain  to  be  seen,  but  nobody 
who  has  seen  the  working  of  tiles  can  doubt  what  they 
will  be. 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  131 

Thus  the  leaven  of  new  ideas  is  working  all  through 
this  region.  When  one  man  gets  a  tile  in  his  field,  an 
other  is  certain'  to  get  one  in  his  head,  and  after  carrying 
it  a  spell,  it  is  in  due  time  laid,  and  carries  water.  When 
Jotham  Sparrowgrass  tile-drains,  you  may  know  the  world 
moves. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 
HooJcertown,  Feb.  15th,  1860. 


NO.   41.— LETTER    FROM     TIMOTHY    BUNKER, 

ESQ. 


JA.KE   FRESTK    SOLD. 

MR.  EDITOR  : — The  spring  work  came  on  so  sudden,  that 
I  didn't  get  time  to  say  any  thing  about  Hookertown  folks, 
last  month,  and  now  I  would*nt  say  a  word,  if  it  were  not 
for  fear  that  other  folks  would  get  taken  in  just  as  bad  as 
neighbor  Frink.  You  needn't  think  that  Jake's  body  has 
been  put  up  at  auction ;  but,  what  is  about  as  bad,  his 
wits  have  been  in  the  market,  and  gone  to  the  highest 
bidder.  Now,  you  see,  we  have  got  our  full  share  of  poor 
laud  up  here  in  Connecticut,  and  of  all  the  land  in  these 
parts,  Jake  Frink's  is  about  the  poorest.  He  has  a  lot  of 
twenty  acres,  lying  up  towards  the  Whiteoaks,  of  poor 
worn-out  sheep  pasture,  not  worth  to  exceed  five  dollars 
an  acre.  He  bought  it  a  dozen  years  ago,  and  gave  a  hun 
dred  dollars  for  the  lot,  and  it  has  not  improved  any  under 
his  cultivation.  All  he  has  ever  done  for  it  has  been  to 
plow  up  occasionally  a  patch  of  it  for  buckwheat,  or  for 
rye.  The  rest  of  the  time  it  has  been  pastured  with  sheep. 


132  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

It  is  a  light,  sandy  loam,  bearing  a-plenty  of  five-fingers, 
and  mullein,  and  a  little  red-top,  with  other  wild  grasses. 
Jake  was  upon  this  piece  of  land  last  summer,  plowing  for 
buckwheat,  when  a  fellow  came  along  in  a  fine  carriage,  with 
a  span,  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Frink  —  Jacob  Frink,  Esq., 
he  called  him.  As  Jake  tells  the  story,  he  was  considera- 
.bly  elevated,  to  hear  a  well-dressed  city  gentleman  calling 
him  "Esq." 

"  So  I  holler'd  whoa  to  old  Buck  and  Bright,  and  axed 
him  what  his  name  might  be,  and  where  he  was  from. 
And  he  said  :  " 

"  I'm  Mr.  Smith,  the  senior  partner  in  the  firm  of  Smith, 
Stubbs,  Darby  &  Co.,  of  Philadelphia,  proprietors  of  the 
patent  for  the  improved,  imperial,  nitrogenized  Tafeu." 

"Wall,  now,  I'm  Jake  Frink,  and  nothing  else,  and 
don't  know  enny  thing  but  English,  and  not  much  of  that. 
I  don't  know  what  Tafeu  is,  never  heard  of  it." 

"  Just  so,  Esq.  Frink.  I  should  think  from  the  looks  of 
this  field,  that  you  were  a  stranger  to  the  most  remarka 
ble  manure  ever  invented  for  the  improvement  of  the  soil." 

u  Oh !  it's  a  manure,  is  it !  " 

"  Yes,  sir-ee,  a  wonderful  fertilizer,  that  will  grow  forty 
bushels  of  wheat  to  the  acre,  one  hundred  of  corn,  and 
from  three  to  four  hundred  of  potatoes.  It  is  great  on 
grass,  bringing  up  such  poor,  sandy  land  as  this  to  a  pro 
duction  of  four  tuns  of  hay  to  the  acre.  It  has  the  hap 
piest  influence  upon  fruit  trees,  making  the  wood  grow 
rapidly,  and  adding  four-fold  to  the  fruit.  By  the  use  of 
this  Tafeu,  the  produce  of  a  farm  may  be  doubled  the  first 
year,  and  quadrupled  the  second.  Every  man  who  pur 
chases  the  article  is  sure  to  get  rich." 

"You're  jest  the  man  I've  been  wanting  to  see  this 
many  a  year.  You  see  I've  been  farming  on't,  this  well- 
nigh  thirty  year,  and  I  ha'n't  got  all  my  land  paid  for  yit. 
I  am  all  the  time  cramp'd  to  git  along,  and  if  you've  got 
a  resate  for  making  folks  rich,  ye  see  I  shall  go  in." 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  133 

"  But  I  have  not  got  the  Tafeu  along  with  me,  to  sell 
this  morning,  I  am  securing  agents  to  dispose  of  it.  I 
sell  rights  to  towns,  and  to  counties,  and  the  man  who 
gets  the  right  to  sell  the  article  makes  his  fortune,  the  first 
season,  while  the  man  who  buys  will  have  to  wait  a  little. 
For  instance,  if  Esq.  Frink  buys  the  right  for  Hooker- 
town,  and  sells  a  thousand  tuns,  he  makes  five  thousand 
dollars,  for  we  allow  our  agents  five  dollars  a  tun  on  the 
sales.  You  have  in  town  at  least  two  hundred  farmers, 
and  they  will  want,  on  a  safe  calculation,  five  tuns  of  Tafeu, 
each." 

"  Yes,  we've  got  more'n  four  hundred  farmers  in  town, 
and  I'm  the  chap  that  can  sell  the  stuff  tu  'em,  if  there  is 
any  vartu  in  talk." 

"  You  see,"  continued  the  fluent  Mr.  Smith,  "  I  sold  the 
right  to  Col.  Babcock,  of  Spruce  Hill,  last  year,  and  he 
told  me  he  made  over  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  there  are 
hundreds  more  I  could  mention  in  other  States,  that  have 
made  handsome  fortunes  out  of  our  fertilizer,  the  first 
season." 

"  And  how  much  are  you  going  to  ax  for  the  right  to 
sell  in  Hookertown  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  generally  sell  county  rights  for  fifty  dollars, 
and  town  rights  for  about  ten,  a  little  more  or  less  accord 
ing  to  size.  But  seeing  it  is  you,  Esq.  Frink,  we  will  let 
you  have  the  Hookertown  right  for  nine  dollars." 

Jake  Frink  is  not  a  monied  man,  but  he  happened  to 
have  just  that  amount  in  bills  in  his  wallet,  and  he  handed 
it  over  to  the  oily-tongued  Mr.  Smith,  who  delivered  him 
his  right  to  sell  Tafeu  in  Hookertown,  duly  signed  and 
dated.  He  told  Jake  as  he  drove  off,  that  a  cargo  would 
be  in  from  Philadelphia,  and  delivered  at  the  landing  next 
Saturday. 

Saturday  came,  and  Jake  went  down  with  his  old  bob- 
tailed  mare,  bright  and  early,  expecting  to  see  a  schooner 
discharging  Tafeu.  But  he  found  nothing  but  a  coal  ves- 


134  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

sel  at  the  dock,  and  the  captain  had  never  heard  of  "  Smith, 
Stubbs,  Darby  &  Co.,"  and  doubted  very  much  whether 
there  was  any  such  firm  in  Philadelphia.  The  next  Satur 
day  came,  and  Jake,  thinking  he  might  have  misunderstood 
the  day,  went  down  again,  but  no  Tafeu  vessel  had  arriv 
ed.  Jake  now  began  to  suspect  he  was  sold,  and  scolded 
some,  if  not  more.  His  golden  visions  became  dim,  as  the 
weeks  wore  away,  and  no  news  came  from  Mr.  Smith  and 
the  cargo  of  patent  fertilizers.  He  has  not  heard  from 
him  since.  Jake  is  particularly  sore  about  this  Tafeu  busi 
ness,  and  his  neighbors,  especially  Jones  and  Tucker,  when 
they  wish  to  touch  him  on  the  raw,  inquire  for  the  price 
of  the  Philadelphia  fertilizer. 

Now,  I  suppose  there  are  thousands  of  dollars  taken  out 
of  the  pockets  of  farmers  in  just  this  way  every  year. 
Some  of  these  concentrated  fertilizers  I  suppose  are  worth 
the  money  paid  for  them,  but  the  chances  are,  that  a  man 
gets  cheated  when  he  buys  them.  This  is  pretty  certain 
to  be  the  case  when  they  are  bought  of  traveling  agents 
like  Mr.  Smith.  It  is  worse  than  highway  robbery,  for 
you  do  not  know  that  you  are  robbed  until  the  thief  is 
out  of  your  reach. 

However,  "  there  is  no  great  loss  but  what  there  is  some 
small  gain,"  and  Jake  Frink  claims  that  he  has  got  his 
money's  worth  in  experience.  He  says  he  "  should  jest 
like  to  see  a  man  come  along  and  undertake  to  sell  him 
patent  manure  agin.  Wouldn't  he  catch  it !  "  Jake  put 
into  his  yard  last  fall  double  the  quantity  of  muck  I  ever 
knew  him  to  cart  before,  and,  judging  from  the  quantity 
of  manure  he  has  spread  this  spring  and  plowed  in,  he 
will  be  a  gainer  by  his  experience.  BEWARE  OF  PATENT 
MANURES. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 

HooJcertown,  April,  1860. 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  135 

.  42.— TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ.,  AT  THE  NEW 
YORK    CENTRAL   PARK. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  have  heern  tell  a  great  deal  about  your 
Park,  that  Mr.  Olmstead  is  fixing  up  for  your  city  folks, 
on  the  upper  end  of  your  island.  Every  body  that  went 
down  to  the  city  from  our  place  had  a  good  deal  to  say 
about  it,  and  the  lots  of  money  they  was  laying  out  there 
in  making  hills  higher,  and  hollows  hollower,  building 
bridges  where  there  wa'n't  any  brooks,  and  putting  pond 
holes  where  there  used  to  be  dry  land,  making  a  clearing 
where  there  was  a  forest,  and  putting  trees  wlHre  there 
was  cleared  land.  I  expect  they  talked  all  the  more  about 
it,  because  Mr.  Olmstead  was  a  Connecticut  man,  and 
used  to  live  close  by  us  up  here  in  Hookertown. 

Mrs.  Bunker  was  a  good  deal  stirred  up  about  these  ac 
counts,  and  thought  she  should  like  to  see  the  thing  for 
herself.  Sally  hasn't  said  a  word  about  visiting  since  she 
got  back  from  down  South.  She  thought  then,  she  said, 
she  should  never  care  to  get  out  of  sight  of  Connecticut 
again  as  long  as  she  lived.  She  has  held  of  that  mind  un 
til  this  spring,  and  has  hardly  been  out  of  Hookertown 
street,  except  to  go  down  to  Shadtown  to  see  the  baby. 
I  have  stuck  pretty  close  to  home  myse'f,  thinking  that 
Hookertown  was  about  as  nigh  the  hub  of  the  universe, 
as  any  other  spot  in  this  country.  So,  one  day  last  week, 
Mrs.  Bunker  says  to  me,  "  Timothy,  have  you  read  in  the 
papers  what  Fred  Olmstead  is  doing  down  there  in  the 
city?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  have  read  some  things,  and  heern  a  good 
deal  more." 

"  They  say  the  city  is  fixing  up  a  sort  of  country  place, 
to  walk  and  ride  in,  and  Fred  is  telling  'em  how  to  spend 
several  millions  on  brush  pasture,  and  sheep  walks,  and 
tadpole  ponds ! " 


136  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

"  Suppose  you  go  down  and  see,  Sally ;  I  have  a  little 
business  in  the  city,  and  shall  be  glad  of  your  company." 

Mrs.  Bunker's  trunk  was  packed  next  day,  and  we  took 
the  boat  for  the  city.  At  first,  she  was  inclined  to  think 
the  whole  story  was  a  hoax,  for  she  did  not  see,  where 
houses  were  so  plenty,  how  folks  could  find  any  room  for 
pastures  and  woodlands.  But  after  riding  up  on  a  rail 
road  that  went  by  horses,  six  or  seven  miles,  with  houses 
and  stores  on  both  sides,  considerable  thicker  than  they 
are  on  Hookertown  street,  and  we  began  to  get  sight  of 
some  vacant  lots  and  trees,  she  thought  there  might  be 
something  in  it. 

The  ci%  pretty  much  faded  out  after  a  while,  and  we 
came  to  a  place  they  told  us  was  the  Park.  We  found 
some  very  wide  roads,  they  called  avenues,  about  as  smooth 
as  a  barn  floor,  and  wide  enough  for  six  loads  of  hay  to 
drive  along  abreast.  "Now,"  exclaims  Mrs.  Bunker, 
"  what  are  .these  people  thinking  of?  Don't  they  expect 
to  leave  the  road  behind  them  when  they  ride  out  ?  Fred 
ought  to  have  told  them  better  than  that."  I  should  think 
there  were  more  people  at  work  -there,  than  we  have  got 
on  all  the  farms  in  Hookertown,  some  drilling  rocks,  some 
carting  stone,  some  setting  out  trees,  and  some  moving 
dirt  from  one  place  to  another,  without  any  particular  ob 
ject  in  view.  I  could  n't  help  thinking  what  lots  of  corn 
and  potatoes  they  would  raise  this  summer,  if  they  were 
only  working  on  farms. 

They  called  one  place  "a  Ramble,  and  had  guide-boards 
put  up,  all  round,  pointing  that  way,  as  if  it  was  some 
thing  remarkable.  Mrs.  Bunker  said  "  it  reminded  her,  for 
all  the  world,  of  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass's  cow  past 
ure,  before  he  drained  the  muskrat  pond,  and  she  didn't 
think  the  lay  of  the  land  was  a  bit  handsomer." 

It  is  curious  to  see  how  folks'  minds  work.  Here  in  the 
country,  the  great  object  seems  to  be  to  get  rid  of  water, 
rocks,  and  brush.  You  see,  I  spent  considerable  in  drain- 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPEES.  loT 

ing  the  horse-pond,  and  Uncle  Jotham  made  dry  land 
where  the  muskrats  built  their  nests.  But  Fred  Olm- 
stead  has  got  things  turned  tother  end  foremost,  and  gone 
and  filled  up  a  valley  of  well-nigh  twenty  acres  with  wa 
ter,  and  made  all  the  shores  of  the  pond  as  crooked  as  a 
ram's  horn.  I  should  n't  think  there  was  a  rod  of  it  any 
where  in  a  straight  line.  Then,  in  the  country,  we  plow 
up  huckleberry  brush,  sweet  fern,  alders,  hardback,  and 
all  such  stuff,  glad  enough  to  get  rid  of  them.  But  down 
there,  we  saw  lots  of  huckleberries,  blackberries,  brakes, 
and  things  of  that  kind,  put  round  into  the  shy  places,  as 
if  they  were  something  very  nice. 

In  one  spot,  I  remember,  we  came  upon  a  sluggish  little 
pond  hole,  with  rushes,  lily  pads,  pickerel  weed,  and  other 
water  plants,  and  on  the  banks  a  rank  patch  of  skunk  cab 
bage.  At  the  sight  of  this  last  plant,  Mrs.  Bunker  put  on 
her  spectacles  to  see  if  she  wa'n't  mistaken,  and  then  burst 
into  such  a  fit  of  laughter,  that,  one  spell,  I  thought  I 
should  have  to  call  a  policeman  to  stop  her.  The  idea  of 
cultivating  that  savory  article  in  a  flower  garden  seemed 
to  upset  all  her  notions  of  propriety. 

Up  here,  in  the  country,  we  take  a  great  deal  of  pains 
to  bury  the  rocks,  and  get  them  out  of  sight.  In  the 
Park,  we  saw  a  good  many  places  where  the  dirt  had 
been  removed  to  bring  the  rocks  into  view,  and  in  one 
place  they  had  dug  a  great  ditch,  clear  from  the  pond  away 
under  a  great  boulder,  as  big  as  a  small  meeting-house. 
They  were  fixing  it  up  for  a  grotto,  I  believe  they  called 
it,  and  they  said  it  would  cost*  five  thousand  dollars.  It 
looked  pretty  much  like  Dick  Sanders'  saw-mill  flume,  or 
Mrs.  Bunker  said  she  thought  it  would,  when  the  moss  got 
grown  upon  the  rocks  around.  I  thought  it  was  a  smash 
ing  price  for  a  big  rock.  In  another  place  they  had  tum 
bled  a  great  lot  of  smaller  rocks  into  a  swale,  and  turned 
on  a  spout  of  Croton  water  to  make  it  look  like  a  brook. 
Now  it  run  down  under  the  stones  out  of  sight,  and 


138  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

again  it  run  over  one  long  flat  rock,  and  fell  down  six  or 
eight  feet  into  the  pool.  This  they  called  a  cascade,  but 
it  looked  to  me  just  like  a  water-fall  in  a  trout  brook,  only 
it  wa'n't  half  so  handsome.  They  said  this  concern  cost 
over  eight  thousand  dollars,  and  that  is  mor'n  Dick  Sand 
ers'  whole  farm  is  worth,  saw-mill,  trout  brook,  and  all. 
The  little  walks  around  the  place  they  called  the  Ramble, 
Mrs.  Bunker  said,  made  her  think,  for  all  the  world,  of  a 
huckleberry  pasture  full  of  rabbit  paths,  and  she  didn't 
believe  but  Fred  Olmstead  had  just  made  a  map  of  some 
place  up  here  on  our  hills,  and  told  his  hired  men  to  mark 
it  out  accordingly.  It  was  a  pretty  woodsy  place,  she  ad 
mitted,  but  thought  the  city  folks  were  paying  pretty  dear 
for  their  whistle. 

That  may  be  so,  but  I  suppose  they  have  earned  their 
money,  and  can  spend  it  as  they  please.  I  couln't  help 
thinking  that  it  was  enough  sight  cheaper  for  a  man,  if  he 
has  a  longing  for  such  things,  to  export  himself  into  the 
country,  than  to  try  and  import  the  country  into  the  city, 
where,  at  best,  he  only  got  a  small  sample,  and  not  a  very 
perfect  specimen  at  that.  I  have  n't  a  doubt  that  Mr. 
Olmstead  has  done  his  work  as  well  as  any  body  could, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  we  who  till  the  soil,  get  rather 
better  looking  trout  brooks,  water-falls,  and  bush  pastures 
at  a  more  reasonable  rate.  We  came  home  thinking -that 
we  were  about  as  well  off  as  our  neighbors,  content  to 
live  in  a  region  where  trout  brooks  run  naturally,  and 
where  brakes  and  ferns,  bulrushes  and  pond  lilies  are  the 
portion  of  every  man's  farm.  It  is  a  great  country  where 
skunk  cabbage  is  grown  in  the  flower  gardens. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  June,  1860. 

[We  generally  let  Squire  Bunker  have  his  say  in  his 
own  words,  for  he  utters  a  good  many  solid  truths  in  his 
way.  His  intended  criticisms  upon  our  Central  Park  we 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  139 

think  are  about  the  best  puff  it  lias  had — it  looks  so  coun 
try  like,  so  "  woodsy,"  that  it  seemed  just  like  the  country 
to  our  rural  visitors,  and  that  is  exactly  what  is  aimed 
at.  ED.] 


NO.   43.— TIM   BUNKER   ON   IRRIGATION   AND 
INVISIBLE  TOLL  GATES. 


"  What  next ! "  exclaimed  my  neighbor  Tucker  one 
morning,  as  he  poked  his  head  over  the  wall  of  the  lot 
where  the  horse-pond  used  to  be,  and  which  is  now  known 
in  all  Hookertown  as  the  Horse-Pond  lot. 

"  What  are  you  turnin  up  that  furrow  for  ?  "  asked 
Jones,  with  his  mouth  agape,  as  if  he  saw  an  elephant. 

"  You  ain't  a  gwine  to  plow  this  field,  be  you,  Squire  ?  " 
asked  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  blew  an  extra  long  whiff  out  of 
his  mouth,  and  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  wall. 

"  Plow  it,  you  fool !  "  exclaimed  Jake  Frink,  "that  'ere 
field  cut  four  tun  of  hay  to  the  acre  this  season,  and  you 
don't  think  Tim  Bunker  is  gwine  to  take  up  such  a  sod  as 
that,  do  you  ?  " 

"'Tarnally  tinkering  with  the  land,"  added  Uncle 
Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  as  he  looked  in  astonishment  at  a 
new  adventure  upon  a  piece  of  land,  that  he  thought  was 
finished. 

"You  don't  expect  to  get  any  more  grass  off  of  this  lot 
than  you  cut  this  year,  do  you  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Spooner,  as 
he  came  to  join  that  portion  of  his  flock  who  keep  a  sharp 
lookout  on  all  my  movements. 

The  Horse-Pond  lot  is  admitted  to  be  a  great  success, 
and  Jake  Frink  grits  his  teeth  every  time  he  goes  by  it, 
and  wonders  he  was  such  a  fool  as  to  sell  it,  though  it  would 


140  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

have  laid  there  unimproved  to  this  day,  if  he  had  kept  it. 
A  part  of  it  I  have  in  sugar  beets  and  mangolds,  and 
though  I  have  seen  some  beets  in  my  day,  I  must  say 
these  are  the  beaters  of  all  that  tribe  of  plants.  You  see 
I  fell  in  with  a  lot  of  old  lime  plaster  from  a  house  they 
took  down  in  the  village  this  spring,  and  carted  on  per 
haps  a  dozen  loads.  The  lime  was  just  what  the  soil  need 
ed  to  decompose  its  excess  of  vegetable  matter,  and,  judg 
ing  from  the  growth  of  these  beets,  they  have  had  about 
as  much  plant-food  as  they  could  take  care  of.  They  have 
three  months  to  grow  yet,  and  they  already  cover  the 
ground,  though  they  are  planted  two  feet  apart.  The  crop 
will  not  be  short  of  two  thousand  bushels  to  the  acre. 

But  the  larger  part  of  the  lot  has  been  in  grass,  and  ac 
cording  to  the  estimate  of  my  neighbors,  the  yield  was 
four  tuns  to  the  acre,  though  I  guess  they  overstate  the 
matter  a  little.  It  was  tall  herds-grass  and  lodged  in 
spots,  but  it  takes  a  great  deal  of  hay  to  make  four  tuns 
to  the  acre.  But  good  as  it  was,  I  am  not  quite  satisfied 
with  it.  You  know  it  is  not  in  human  nature  to  let  well 
enough  alone,  or  to  think  that  we  are  on  top  of  the  ladder, 
while  there  is  a  single  round  above  us. 

I  was  just  laying  out  the  ground  for  watering  it,  when 
my  neighbors  gave  me  a  call  yesterday.  You  see,  the  land 
slopes  away  from  the  road,  and  water  can  be  run  all  over 
it  by  making  shallow  channels  upon  the  surface  with  a 
plow,  and  mending  them  a  little  with  the  hoe  and  spade. 
I  have  a  first-rate  chance  to  turn  water  on-,  and  as  the 
ground  is  now  all  drained,  I  claim  that  the  more  water  on 
top,  the  better,  as  long  as  it  can  get  out  at  the  bottom. 

Almost  all  water  has  more  or  less  sediment  in  it,  even 
when  it  seems  to  be  clear,  and  the  land  is  just  like  a 
strainer  to  take  all  this  floating  matter  out.  There  is  a 
good  deal  of  nourishment  for  plants  in  this  sediment. 
The  soup  is  rather  thin,  I  admit,  but  I  suppose  some  things 
may  suit  plants  that  would  be  rather  spare  diet  for  man 


THE    TIM    BIHSTKER   CAPERS.  141 

or  beast.  When  I  get  my  channels  properly  constructed, 
I  can  irrigate  this  lot  from  two  sources — the  wash  of  the 
road,  and  a  brook  that  I  can  turn  from  its  course  at  a  cost 
of  not  over  twenty  dollars.  •  You  see,  the  lot  lies  right  in 
a  hollow  between  my  house  and  Jake  Frink's,  and  can 
now  be  made  to  catch  all  the  water  from  the  two  hills,  a 
distance  of  at  least  a  mile,  which  used  to  go  into  the  pond 
before  it  was  drained.  The  wash  of  a  road  is  good  any 
where,  I  suppose  partly  from  the  manure  that  drops  from 
passing  animals,  and  partly  from  the  soil,  which  is  ground 
up  very  fine  by  the  continual  tramping  of  iron-shod  feet, 
and  the  crushing  of  wheels.  I  have  noticed  that  where- 
ever  any  of  this  dirt  is  run  on  to  a  mowing  field,  even 
where  there  is  hardly  a  trace  of  manure,  it  makes  the 
grass  much  stouter,  and  you  will  see  the  effects  of  it  for 
several  rods  from  the  fence.  I  have  sometimes  thought  it 
would  pay  to  have  a  machine  for  grinding  up  soil  very  fine 
for  top-dressing.  At  any  rate,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
all  the  wash  of  roads  ought  to  be  saved,  wherever  it  can 
be  turned  on  to  grass  land. 

In  the  roads  that  lead  into  villages  and  cities  this  wash 
is  particularly  valuable,  because  there  is  more  travel  to 
grind  up  the  soil,  and  more  manure  dropped.  Hooker- 
town  is  a  place  of  considerable  trade,  and  I  suppose  on  an 
average  there  are  fifty  carriages  and  teams  that  go  by  this 
lot  every  day.  I  calculate  to  make  them  all  pay  toll,  and 
contribute  to  the  growth  of  my  grass  without  knowing 
it.  Suppose  I  get  from  each  passing  team  only  five  mills  ; 
this  amounts  to  twenty-five  cents  a  day,  or  over  ninety 
dollars  a  year.  I  think  the  wash  that  comes  into  this  hol 
low,  when  spread  over  five  acres,  will  make  more  than 
ninety  dollars  difference  in  the  yield  of  the  hay.  Every 
farmer  who  owns  a  lot  similarly  located,  can  erect  an  in 
visible  toll  gate,  and  collect  the  tolls  without  robbing  his 
neighbors. 

The  water  from  the  brook  I  can  turn  on,  in  dry  times 


142  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

in  the  fall  or  summer,  after  the  hay  is  taken  off.  This 
brook  comes  from  a  swamp  covered  with  timber  and  brush, 
principally  maple  and  huckleberry  and  other  hard  woods, 
and  every  fall  brings  down  a  great  quantity  of  leaves  and 
vegetable  matter.  It  also  flows  through  meadows  and 
cultivated  fields,  and  after  heavy  rains  carries  a  good  deal 
of  mud  and  sediment.  This,  I  think,  can  not  fail  to  bene 
fit  vegetation,  though  it  is  not  so  rich  as  the  road  wash. 

The  arrangement  of  the  channels  is  a  matter  of  consid 
erable  importance.  It  is  found  from  experiment  that  the 
grass  gets  all  the  more  valuable  parts  of  the  water  and 
sediment  in  running  six  or  eight  rods,  so  that  the  main 
channels  should  be  about,  that  distance  apart  over  the 
whole  field.  If  the  lot  lies  like  mine  in  the  form  of  a  par 
allelogram,  sloping  to  the  south,  the 
channels  may  be  arranged  as  in  the  cut. 
The  road  runs  parallel  with  the  north  side 
of  the  lot.  The  water  comes  in  through 
the  wall  at  .4,  and  follows  the  main  chan 
nel  until  it  discharges  at  B.  This  chan 
nel  is  made  about  eighteen  inches  broad 
at  the  top,  and  about  a  foot  deep.  It  is  kept  nearly  level 
where  it  runs  east  and  west,  so  that  small  notches  in  the 
brim  will  pass  the  water  off  in  nearly  equal  streams.  These 
small  streams  are  partly  absorbed  by  the  soil,  in  running 
eight  rods  to  the  channel  below,  where  they  are  caught 
and  mingled  with  the  muddy  water  again,  and  again  pass 
ed  off  through  small  cuts  in  the  brim,  and  so  on  until  the 
whole  field  is  irrigated.  The  fall  is  about  two  feet  in  the 
eight  rods,  but  the  channels  could  be  easily  worked  with 
much  more  fall,  as  the  water  would  only  run  a  little  faster 
from  C  to  D  and  in  the  parallel  courses. 

u  Irritation  of  the  land !  "  exclaimed  Kier  Frink,  as  he 
looked  out  of  his  coal  cart,  where  he  has  stopped  to  hear 
what  was  said  by  the  company.  "  What  does  he  mean 
by  that  ?  I  never  heern  of  that  even  in  the  Whiteoaks, 


THE    TIM    BUNKEE    PAPEES.  143 

where  they  irritate  almost  every  thing  from  cats  up  to 
old  hosses." 

"  He  is  gwine  to  turn  a  brook  on  here  and  git  six  tun 
of  hay  to  the  acre,"  answered  Tucker. 

"  If  he  can,"  added  Jones. 

"  And  blame  him,  he'll  du  it  neow,  ye  see,  for  he's  a 
master  hand  to  carry  his  pint,"  said  Seth  Twiggs. 

"  Neow  du  tell,"  responded  Kier,  hitting  his  horse  a 
smart  lick,  "  Tim  Bunker  waterin  a  swamp !  git  up  old 
hoss,  this  aint  a  safe  place  for  yew." 

And  the  old  coal  cart  vanished  up  the  hill  as  if  the 
driver  had  seen  a  ghost.  But  I  am  not  quite  crazy  yet, 
though  some  of  my  neighbors  think  I  am  leaning  that 
way.  I  shall  keep  you  posted  on  "  the  irritation  of  the 
soil." 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEE,  ESQ. 

Hookertown^  Aug.,  1860. 


NO.   44.— TIM    BUNKER    ON  FEEDING  WITH 
OIL   MEAL. 


"  It's  no  use  to  try  it,"  said  Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  as  he 
poked  his  cane  into  the  tub  where  I  was  preparing  a  mess 
for  my  fattening  cattle. 

"  No  use  to  try  what  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  to  fat  cattle  with  iled  meal.  You  see  the  thing 
has  been  tried,  time  and  agin,  over  on  the  Island,  and 
failed.  Never  could  make  the  cattle  eat  the  stinking 
stuff.  Job  Woodhull  and  Zophar  Mills  both  tried  it  one 
summer.  You  see  they  had  heern  a  great  deal  about  feed 
ing  animals  with  ile  meal,  and  they  took  it  into  their 
heads  to  make  a  lot  out  of  fish  ile  and  Indian  meal.  Thoy 
had  a  plenty  of  ile  from  their  fish  works,  and  they  put  in 


144  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

about  five  gallons  to  a  barrel  of  meal,  and  mixed  it  up 
well.  They  tried  to  get  oxen  to  eat  it,  but  it  was  no  go. 
They  kept  trying  every  thing  with  it  for  a  week  or  more, 
and  by  that  time  it  was  about  the  stinkenest  mess  that 
was  ever  got  up  on  the  Island,  where  they  are  famous  for 
smells,  especially  in  the  fish  season.  I  guess  they  have'nt 
heerd  the  last  of  that  ile  meal  yet." 

"  The  oxen  were  sensible  brutes  for  not  touching  such 
stuff,"  said  I.  "  But  you  see,  Uncle  Jotham,  this  is  not 
that  kind  of  oil  meal." 

"  Du  tell !  " 

"  You  know  there  are  certain  kinds  of  plants  that  pro 
duce  oil-bearing  seeds,  and  when  they  are  pressed  for  the 
sake  of  the  oil,  a  cake  remains,  which  is  good  for  manure 
or  for  provender:  They  press  rape  seed  and  the  castor 
oil  bean,  and  the  refuse  cake  makes  a  very  good  manure. 
They  press  flax-seed  to  get  linseed  oil  for  painting,  and 
cotton  seed  to  get  oil  for  burning,  for  making  soap,  and 
other  purposes.  The  cake  that  remains  is  ground  up  into 
meal,  and  is  fed  to  cattle." 

"  Well,  I  never  paid  much  attention  to  it,  but  I  allers 
tho't  oil  meal  was  such  as  they  made  on  the  Island." 

This  talk  with  Uncle  Jotham  occurred  more  than, a  year 
ago,  when  I  first  begun  to  use  the  meal  made  from  linseed 
and  cotton  seed  cake.  I  had  not  much  faith  in  it  myself, 
when  I-  begun  to  use  it,  though  I  ought  to  have  had;  for 
linseed  cake  has  been  used  for  fattening  cattle,  and  va 
rious  feeding  purposes,  for  several  generations.  It  is  as 
tonishing  to  see  how  little  faith  people  have  in  any  thing 
they  have  not  seen  and  tried. 

In  England,  if  a  farmer  has  got  to  purchase  feeding 
stuff,  he  is  certain  to  invest  in  oil-cake.  In  this  country, 
it  is  pretty  certain  to  be  corn  or  oats.  Almost  all  the 
oil-cake  made  in  this  country  is  sent  to  a  foreign  market, 
because  very  few  of  our  farmers  have  tried  it.  Once  in  a 
while  we  find  an  imported  farmer  like  John  Johnston  of 


FEEDING    WITII    OIL-MEAL. 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPEES.  145 

Geneva,  or  the  dairy  farmers,  using  oil-cake  for  feeding. 
But  not  one  farmer  in  a  hundred  has  ever  seen  it  or  tried 
it.  As  a  rule,  they  have  no  faith  in  buying  any  thing  to 
keep  up  their  cattle  in  high  condition.  They  sell  grain, 
and  feed  out  hay  and  grass.  These,  no  doubt,  are  the 
staple  articles  of  fodder,  but  all  cattle  will  do  better  to 
have  some  addition  to  hay  and  grass.  I  have  always  fed 
every  thing  I  could  raise  on  my  farm — oats,  buckwheat, 
rye,  and  roots — and  have  no  doubt  it  pays.  If  any  body 
can  use  grain  to  a  profit^  the  farmer  can.  The  man  who 
buys  his  grain  expects  to  make  a  profit  on  it,  and  in  most 
cases,  does  so.  Why  should  not  the  farmer  feed  his  grain 
and  make  the  profit  himself?  If  there  is  a  profit  in  feed 
ing  twenty  bushels  of  corn  to  a  bullock,  of  say,  three  dol 
lars,  the  farmer,  especially  if  he  live  near  a  good  market, 
can  make  the  profit  a  little  better  than  any  body  else. 
He  wants  the  manure  for  his  land,  and  the  manure  is  on 
the  soil  where  it  will  be  plowed  in.  There  is  no  expense 
for  carting  it  three  or  four  miles  from  the  village,  or  of 
shipping  it  fifty  miles,  or  more,  from  the  city. 

I  always  liked  to  feed  grain,  corn  meal,  oats,  etc.,  but  I 
think  now  the  oil  meal  pays  better  than  even  the  grains. 
The  linseed  meal  comes  pretty  high,  and  that  is  one  great 
objection  to  its  use.  But  the  cotton  seed  meal  comes 
even  cheaper  than  corn  meal,  and  I  think  does  better  than 
linseed,  pound  for  pound. 

I  had  not  used  it  a  month,  before  Jake  Frink  came 
along  one  morning  and  hailed  me. 

"  What  ye  ben  duin  to  yer  cattle  lately,  Mr.  Bunker  ? 
I  see  the  hair  looks  mighty  sleek  and  shiny,  as  ef  it  had 
been  combed  with  a  fine  tooth  comb,  and  had  some  int- 
ment  on  tu  it." 

a  You  are  right,  neighbor,  but  the  ointment  was  applied 
on  the  inside.  I  have  been  feeding  with  oil  meal." 

"What  upon  airth  is  ile  meal  ?  Never  heern  of  sich  stuff." 

"  Well,  there  is  a  fellow  up  here  in  Shadtown  has  start- 


146  THE  TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

ed  the  business  of  pressing  cotton  seed  oil,  and  sells  the 
meal  from  the  ground  cake  to  the  farmers." 

Jake  Frink  was  about  right  in  describing  the  glossy 
coat  of  my  yoke  of  oxen,  though,  perhaps,  I  did  not  do 
full  credit  to  John's  curry-comb,  and  wisp  of  straw.  They 
are  Devons,  and  John  takes  a  good  deal  of  pride  in  polish 
ing  them  down,  especially  when  he  drives  a  load  of  wood 
to  market  in  Shadtown.  Whether  any  body  looks  out  of 
the  window  at  the  young  former's  team,  or  at  his  wood, 
I  am  not  able  to  say.  He  is  uncommon  fond  of  going  to 
see  Sally  at  the  parsonage,  I  have  noticed  lately,  and  the 
span  of  Black  Hawks  are  quite  as  shiny  as  the  oxen. 
Probably  he  don't  want  to  disgrace  his  sister,  when  he  is 
in  town. 

I  have  been  trying  this  feed  for  a  year  or  more,  and 
think  I  get  more  for  my  money  than  in  any  kind  of  feed 
that  I  buy.  It  conies  considerable  cheaper  than  corn 
meal,  and  goes  further  in  making  milk,  butter,  cheese, 
beef,  mutton,  pork,  etc.  It  is  excellent  for  working  cat 
tle,  making  them  shed  their  coats  early  in  the  spring,  and 
keeping  them  in  good  flesh.  It  increases  the  product  of 
milk  from  twenty  to  thirty  per  cent,  depending,  somewhat, 
upon  the  condition  of  the  cow.  I  have  found  about  two 
quarts  a  day  enough  for  a  single  animal.  If  fed  too  lib 
erally,  it  gives  the  milk  an  unpleasant  flavor.  It  keeps 
the  cattle  in  good  thriving  condition.  In  making  beef,  a 
larger  quantity  should  be  used ;  there  is  no  bad  taste  im 
parted  to  the  meat. 

Almost  all  cattle  are  a  little  shy  in  eating  it  at  first,  and, 
in  this  respect  they  are  pretty  much  like  their  owners  in 
buying  it.  But  if  a  small  quantity  is  mixed  with  some 
palatable  food,  they  will  eat  it,  and  soon  become  very  fond 
of  it.  One  great  advantage  in  using  this  and  the  linseed 
cake  meal  is  the  excellent  quality  of  the  manure.  It 
seems  to  do  execution  on  the  land  like  hog  manure.  I 
have  never  had  such  a  yard  of  manure  as  I  carted,  out  this 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  147 

last  spring,  and  I  think  it  must  be  owing,  in  part,  to  the 
two  tuns  of  cotton  seed  meal  used  by  my  cattle  last  win 
ter.  It  would  have  made  a  great  difference  in  the  looks 
of  my  farm,  if  I  had  begun  to  use  this  article  ten  years 
ago.  But  we  must  all  live  to  learn. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown^  Sept.,  1860. 


45.— TIM    BUNKER    ON    THE    FARMERS' 
CLUB. 


HOW   TO    GET   HIGH   BY   FARMING. 

[Perhaps  it  might  be  more  modest  to  omit  the  following  letter  from 
the  Squire,  but  it  contains  some  good  hints.  And  here  allow  us  to 
remark,  that  these  letters,  which  have  been  continued  so  long,  and 
we  expect  will  be  continued  hereafter,  are  none  of  them  '  got  up '  in 
our  office,  as  some  have  supposed,  but  they  are  veritable  letters,  sent 
to  us  from  Connecticut.  We  are  happy  to  know,  that  the  plain, 
homespun  truths  here  told  have  been  of  great  value  to  thousands 
who  have  read  them,  not  only  in  this  journal,  but  in  many  others,  in 
to  which  they  have  been  copied. — ED.] 

ME.  EDITOR  : — I  have  not  had  much  to  say  lately  about 
our  farmers'  club,  that  our  minister,  Mr.  Spooner,  and  a 
few  of  us  started  in  Hookertown,  a  few  years  ago.  Well, 
you  see,  at  first  the  thing  didn't  take  very  well.  It  look 
ed  kind  of  bookish,  and  men  accustomed  to  the  plow  han 
dle  didn't  exactly  like  to  come  to  the  school-house,  where 
we  generally  hold  our  meetings  in  the  winter,  to  learn 
farming.  Some  of  them  called  it  Mr.  Spooner's  school, 
and  some  Tim  Bunker's  pew.  Jake  Frink,  who  has  never 
forgiven  me  for  buying  that  horse-pond  lot,  and  draining 
it,  called  it  the  Horse-Pond  Convention.  In  the  summer 

7 


148  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

time  we  meet  around  at  the  farmers'  houses,  generally 
once  a  month,  some  Saturday  afternoon,  so  as  to  look  at 
the  crops  and  stock,  as  well  as  to  discuss  questions.  Well, 
by  a  little  coaxing  and  management,  we  have  got  most  of 
the  young  farmers  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  village  in 
terested,  so  that  we  frequently  have  twenty  at  the  meet 
ing,  and  that  makes  about  as  large  a  company  as  a  plain 
farmer  cares  to  talk  to.  My  immediate  circle  of  friends 
are  among  the  most  punctual  members.  Mr.  Spooner  and 
Deacon  Smith  are  always  on  hand  to  keep  things  straight ; 
Seth  Twiggs  comes  up  to  see  what  he  can  through  his 
clouds  of  smoke ;  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass  limps 
around  with  his  invaluable  scraps  of  experience  from  Long 
Island ;  and  Tucker,  Jones,  and  Jake  Frink,  drop  in  to  see 
what  new  exercise  is  going  on  in  Tim  Bunker's  pew. 

The  club  is  getting  to  be  a  good  deal  of  an  institution, 
if  not  a  great  one,  in  Hookertown.  The  last  topic  talked 
up  was  "  How  to  Make  Farming  Profitable."  We  had  a 
stranger  into  the  meeting  from  Massachusetts,  Mr.  Pink- 
ham  ;  and  he  took  the  ground  that  it  was  not  profitable, 
and  for  his  part  he  did  not  believe  it  could  be  made  to 
pay.  He  said  "  he  had  got  a  little  property  together,  but 
he  did  not  make  it  by  cultivating  the  soil,  though  he  had 
worked  at  it  thirty  years  steady.  He  had  a  farm  given 
to  him  to  start  with,  and  if  he  had  done  nothing  else  but 
farm  it,  he  believed  he  should  have  run  in  debt  every  year. 
He  had  worked  in  the  winter  and  on  rainy  days  at  shoe 
making,  and  all  that  he  was  worth,  over  and  above  what 
he  inherited,  was  owing  to  his  trade." 

Uncle  Jotham  guessed  Mr.  Pinkham  was  about  right,  if 
men  managed  their  farms  in  the  old  way.  He  had  known 
a  hundred  farmers  or  more,  on  the  Island,  and  there  wa'n't 
a  half  dozen  of  them  that  got  ahead  any,  until  they  begun 
to  catch  bony  fish.  This  made  manure  mighty  cheap  and 
plenty,  and  a  man  must  be  a  fool  that  couldn't  get  big 
crops  with  manure  a  plenty.  But  to  have  nothing  but 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  149 

barn-yard  manure,  and  next  to  none  of  that,  he  didn't 
think  a  farmer  could  more'n  make  the  ends  of  the  year 
meet. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  can  du  that,"  said  Jake  Frink,  "  un 
less  he  has  better  luck  than  I  have  had.  I've  worked  hard 
as  an  Injun  on  my  land,  for  well-nigh  forty  year,  and  I 
hain't  got  so  much  land  as  when  I  started.  I  hev  ben  al- 
lers  comin  short  at  the  eend  of  the  year,  and  every  now 
and  then,  have  had  to  sell  off'  a  chunk  of  land  to  some 
lucky  naber.  And  it  allers  happened,  that  I  sold  jest  the 
best  lot  I  had,  but  didn't  see  it  till  arter  it  was  gone. 
That  horse-pond  lot,  that  didn't  use  to  raise  any  thing  but 
sour  grass,  bulrushes,  and  hardback,  now  bears  three 
tun  to  the  acre  of  first-rate  herds-grass.  Some  folks  make 
farming  pay,  but  I  never  could.  Some  how  it  don't  run 
in  the  blood." 

Mr.  Spooner  said  farmers  did  not  have  capital  enough 
to  carry  on  their  farming  profitably.  No  man  can  be  suc 
cessful  in  business  without  capital.  The  merchant  has  his 
years  of  discipline  as  a  clerk,  and  earns  a  small  capital  be 
fore  he  sets  up  for  himself.  But  the  farmer  often  runs  in 
debt  for  his  farm,  and  has  hardly  money  enough  to  buy 
his  stock  and  tools.  This  keeps  him  troubled  all  the  time. 
He  is  afraid  to  hire  help,  to  purchase  such  new  machines 
as  he  needs,  and  to  make  those  improvements  in  his  land 
which  are  essential  to  profitable  husbandry. 

George  Washington  Tucker  thought  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  truth  in  Mr.  Spooner's  doctrine.  "  I  don't  know 
zactly  what  the  parson  means  by  capital,  but  if  he  means 
money,  he's  jest  right.  I  never  had  a  red  cent  tu  begin 
with,  and  that's  the  reason  I  haint  got  along  no  better.  As 
they  used  to  say  in  siferiug,  0  from  0,  and  0  remains.  It's 
jest  so  in  farming." 

"  Them's  my  sentiments,"  said  Jones.  Now  the  fact  is, 
both  Tucker  and  Jones  are  lazy,  and  never  did  a  good 
day's  work  in  one  day,  in  their  whole  lives.  The  cipher 


150  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

lies  in  the  persons  of  those  two  individuals,  and  not  in 
their  purses.  I  didn't  say  that  in  the  club ;  if  I  had,  I 
guess  I  should  have  spoke  in  meeting. 

I  did  have  to  say,  however,  that  I  thought  the  trouble 
about  bad  farming  lay  a  little  deeper  than  the  want  of 
capital  or  the  want  of  labor.  "  The  want  of  brains,  I  guess, 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  unprofitable  farming.  What 
is  the  use  of  a  man's  having  money,  if  he  does  not  know 
how  to  apply  it  to  his  business?  What  is  the  use  of  a 
man's  having  labor,  if  he  does  not  know  how  to  direct  it, 
so  as  to  make  it  pay  ?  Farmers  do  not  read  enough  about 
their  business,  and  reflect  upon  it.  I  know  of  a  dozen 
farmers  who  have  from  one  to  five  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank,  and  they  have  occasion  for  the  use  of  twice  that  sum 
in  order  to  make  their  farms  productive.  Capital  in  the 
bank  only  pays  six  or  seven  per  cent.  In  the  bank  of 
earth,  if  wisely  invested,  it  will  pay  ten  per  cent.  I  have 
got  fifteen  per  cent  on  what  I  have  laid  out  on  the  horse- 
pond  lot." 

"  Above  all  expenses  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Spooner. 

"  Yes,  above  all  expenses,  and  I  expect  to  get  it  for 
years  to  come.  I  do  not  find  it  difficult  to  make  land  pay 
the  interest  on  three  hundred  dollars  an  acre,  and  any  man 
who  will  read  and  digest  the  American  Agriculturist  can 
do  the  same  thing." 

"  Where  is  that  paper  printed  ?"  inquired  Pinkham. 
"  I've  heard  tell  so  much  about  that  paper,  and  about  im 
provements  Squire  Bunker  has  made  since  he  began  read 
ing  it,  that  I've  a  notion  to  take  it  myself  a  year,  and  see 
what  it  is,  any  way." 

"At  41  Park  Row,  N.  Y.,  by  O.  Judd,  and  it  only  costs 
a  dollar  a  year,  and  often  you  get  a  dollar's  worth  of 
seeds  thrown  into  the  bargain." 

"  You  say  that  'cause  you  rite  for  it,  Squire,"  said  Seth 
Twiggs ;  to  poke  fun  at  me. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  151 

"  It's  true  I  write  some  about  Hookertown,  but  what  I 
get  out  of  it  that  I  don't  write,  is  worth  about  five  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year  to  me ;  and  I  guess  this  town  is  worth 
ten  thousand  dollars  more  in  solid  cash  for  the  ideas  they 
have  got  out  of  the  Agriculturist. 

"  Judd's  a  hull  team !  "  ejaculated  Twiggs,  as  he  knock 
ed  his  pipe  on  the  round  of  his  chair,  with  an  emphasis 
that  sent  the  bowl  spinning  half  way  across  the  room, 
"and  if  that  paper  hasn't  got  a  half  a  dozen  big  horses 
hitched  on  to  it,  as  strong  as  Pennsylvania  roadsters,  and 
as  fast  as  yer  Morgans,  then  I'm  no  judge  of  what's  in  it. 
You're  a  bennyfacter,  Squire  Bunker,  for  getting  me  and 
so  many  to  read  that  paper." 

Well,  I  guess  they'll  all  find  it  out  by  and  by.  Just 
look  at  Dea.  Smith's  new  underdrained  ten-acre  field, 
where  he  harvested  forty  bushels  of  wheat  to  the  acre  this 
summer.  Look  at  Seth  Twiggs'  garden  with  the  tile  in, 
and  subsoiled.  He  raises  a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  stuff 
where  he  used  to  raise  less  than  twenty.  Look  at  Jake 
Frink's  new  watering  trough  in  his  yard,  and  Uncle  Jo- 
tham's  drained  muskrat  swamp,  and  new  barn  cellar ;  and, 
to  cap  all,  my  reclaimed  salt  marsh,  cutting  three  tun  of 
hay  to  the  acre.  I  made  two  thousand  dollars  by  that 
operation,  and  I  might  have  thunk  and  thunk  my  brains 
out,  and  I  never  should  have  thought  of  that,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  paper.  Improvements  are  going  on  all  over 
the  town,  and  it  is  because  they  read  the  Agriculturist. 
All  the  way  up  to  Shadtown,  I  can  tell  just  what  farmers 
read  it  by  the  looks  of  the  farms  and  buildings.  You  see 
then,  my  recipe  for  getting  rich  by  farming  is,  to  take  the 
paper,  read  and  digest  inwardly,  and  apply  outwardly. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Oct.,  1860. 


152  TEE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

NO.    46.— TIM    BUNKER    ON    BAD    WATER. 


A   STIR   IN   HOOKERTOWN. 

"  What  upon  airth  do  you  s'pose  is  the  matter  with  my 
well  ?  "  said  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  one  morning  in 
August.  "  We  hain't  been  able  to  drink  it  for  more  than 
a  month.5' 

"  Guess  there's  a  cat  in  it,"  responded  Benjamin  Frank 
lin  Jones,  who  is  always  at  leisure  to  attend  to  any  busi 
ness  of  his  neighbors.  "  I  found  one  in  mine,  last  week. 
Shouldn't  have  found  it  out  if  I  hadn't  seen  some  of  the 
hair  in  the  bucket.  Smelt  like  pizen  though,  depend  on't." 

"  No,  there  ain't  any  cat  or  rat  in  it.  The  water  is  as 
clear  as  a  crystal,  and  I  had  it  cleared  out  last  week,  but 
it  didn't  help  it  a  bit." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  ef  it  had  been  pizened,"  suggested 
Seth  Twiggs,  with  a  slight  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  a  puff 
of  smoke  that  made  the  kitchen  blue.  He  loves  to  play 
upon  the  fears  of  Uncle  Jotham,  and  knows  his  weak 
spot.  "  Kier  Frink  was  round  all  last  month,  you  know." 

"  You  don't  say  that  creetur  is  at  hum  agin !  I  thought 
we'd  got  rid  of  him  when  he  married  the  widder,"  re 
sponded  Jotham,  with  a  faint  feeling  at  the  stomach. 

"Ye  needn't  lay  it  to  Kier,"  said  Jake  Frink,  "for  my 
well  has  been  out  of  fix  all  summer,  and  the  boy  wouldn't 
pizen  our  well.  I  know  'taint  any  thing  uncommon  to 
have  the  water  taste  bad  in  summer  at  our  house.  Water 
gets  low,  smells  a  leetle  like  the  bottom  of  a  ditch,  and  I 
s'pose  it's  for  the  same  reason.  It  draws  the  smell  out  of 
the  dirt." 

"  Our  well  used  to  taste  bad  in  summer  until  I  put  them 
tile  into  the  garden,  and  made  the  surface  water  run  off 
through  them  iuto  the  brook,"  remarked  Twiggs. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  153 

"  Ye  don't  s'pose  the  bad  smells  come  from  the  top  of 
the  ground,  do  ye  ?  "  asked  Jake. 

"That's  a  new  idee,"  said  Uncle  Jotham,  "but  there 
must  be  something  in  it,  for  my  sink  drain  ain't  more  than 
ten  feet  from  the  mouth  of  my  well." 

This  talk  of  my  neighbors  gives  a  clue  to  an  evil  that 
prevails  in  other  communities  besides  Hookertown.  It 
has  prevailed  here  more  than  usual  this  summer,  because 
the  fore  part  of  the  summer  was  dry,  and  the  springs  and 
wells  got  low.  You  have  pure  water  down  in  your  city, 
for  it  is  brought  to  you  in  iron  pipes,  that  guard  it  against 
all  the  foul  dirt  and  smells  through  which  it  has  to  pass. 
But  out  here  in  the  country,  where  we  brag  about  having 
every  thing  sweet  and  clean,  we  are  often  troubled  with 
bad  water,  especially  in  the  summer  time.  A  good  many 
of  my  neighbors  have  had  to  apologize  a  little  for  their 
water,  though  some  of  them  got  so  used  to  it,  that  they 
didn't  know  but  'twas  the  natural  taste  of  all  water. 
Somehow,  there  was  a  good  deal  that  needed  an  apology 
that  didn't  get  it.  Even  Dea.  Smith,  who  is  pretty  par 
ticular  about  most  things,  had  a  well  this  summer,  that 
gave  out  an  "  ancient  and  fish-like  smell."  Folks  that  are 
afflicted  in  this  way  all  wonder  what's  the  matter  with 
the  water,  when  the  matter  is  about  as  plain  as  the  sun  in 
the  heavens. 

I  suppose  nobody  thinks  the  water  gets  bad  without 
some  cause,  and  yet  they  talk  just  as  if  they  believed  so. 
Seth  Twiggs  has  the  right  of  it — this  bad  taste  and  smell 
almost  invariably  come  from  the  surface.  Now,  Mr.  Edi 
tor,  I  don't  want  to  disturb  the  stomachs  of  your  readers, 
and  prevent  them  from  drinking  water  any  more,  for  I 
am  a  teetotaller  and  believe  that  Adam's  ale  is  about  the 
best  article  of  drink  that  was  ever  put  into  a  tumbler. 
But  I  must  say  that  I  prefer  a  pure  article. 

It  stands  to  reason  that  water  will  run  down  hill, 
whether  it  is  pure  or  foul,  and  will  keep  running  till  it 


154  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

finds  the  lowest  place,  whether  it's  the  bottom  of  the  well 
or  the  lower  end  of  a  brook.  We  see  this  when  we  dig  a 
ditch,  or  lay  down  a  tile.  If  it  is  put  down  four  feet  in 
the  earth,  it  will  draw  the  water  on  each  side,  for  a  rod  or 
more,  right  into  it.  If  the  soil  is  very  compact,  or  made 
up  mainly  of  black  earth,  it  would  probably  absorb  all 
offensive  matters  in  the  water,  until  it  became  saturated 
or  charged  with  the  foul  gases,  when  a  good  deal  of  filthy 
water  would  go  down  into  the  drain  and  be  carried  off. 
Now  I  do  not  want  to  disgust  any  of  your  readers,  by 
telling  them  that  the  contents  of  their  sinks,  vaults,  and 
stables,  drain  into  their  wells.  They  might  take  it  as  an 
insult.  But  let  them  just  look  at  the  location  of  their  sinks 
and  vaults.  If  a  drain  four  feet  deep  will  draw  water  say 
twenty-five  feet  distant,  how  far  will  a  well  of  thirty  or 
forty  feet  draw  it  ? 

Seth  Twiggs  thinks  he  cured  his  well  by  putting  tile  in 
to  his  garden.  That  is  only  a  part  of  the  story,  for  the 
next  season,  he  cemented  his  privy  vault,  and  its  contents 
now  go  regularly  to  the  compost  heap.  The  sink  drain, 
too,  that  used  to  empty  within  ten  feet  of  the  mouth  of 
the  well,  is  now  intercepted  by  a  row  of  tiles,  carrying  the 
water  after  it  leaches,  through  the  soil,  off  into  the  brook. 
The  soil  about  his  well  is  loose  gravel,  after  you  get  down 
some  four  or  five  feet,  and  this  has  been  made  still  more 
loose  by  the  digging  and  stoning  of  the  well.  The  water 
would  go  through  the  whole  circumference  back  of  the 
stones  four  or  five  feet,  about  as  readily  as  through  a  sieve. 
There  is  a  great  absorbing  power  in  soils,  but  after  a  while 
they  will  not  take  up  any  more  of  the  foul  gases,  and  the 
sink  water  and  other  offensive  matters  must  go  down  to 
the  level  of  the  water  in  the  well,  with  very  little  filtering. 

How  far  a  well  must  be  removed  from  the  sink  and 
other  offensive  places,  to  keep  the  water  pure,  will  depend 
somewhat  upon  the  circumstances,  as  the  depth  of  the 
well,  and  the  character  of  the  soil.  A  deep  well,  of 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  155 

course,  would  drain  the  surface  much  further  than  a  shal 
low  one.  Dea.  Smith's  well  is  thirty-five  feet  deep,  and 
there  is  nothing  offensive  upon  the  surface  nearer  than 
three  rods.  I  have  no  doubt  that  there  is  a  connection 
between  the  sink  drain  and  the  well,  and  that  this  is  the 
source,  in  most  cases,  of  bad  water  in  wells. 

But  it' will  be  asked,  probably,  by  some  wiseacre  like 
Jake  Frink,  why  then  don't  the  water  taste  as  bad  in 
winter  as  in  summer?  Jake  don't  see  that  it  makes  a 
mighty  difference  whether  he  have  five  pounds  of  good 
beef  in  his  soup,  or  barely  a  knuckle  of  mutton.  In  win 
ter,  the  soup  is  diluted.  Rains  fall  abundantly,  and  not 
unfrequently  the  wells  are  raised  ten  feet  or  more,  so  that 
they  do  not  draw  water  from  so  great  a  distance.  The 
water,  too,  is  generally  much  colder,  as  it  comes  to  the  ta 
ble,  and  the  bad  taste,  if  there  be  any,  is  riot  so  percepti 
ble,  as  in  warm  weather. 

Seth  Twiggs  has  hit  upon  the  remedy.  If  a  garden  is 
not  tile  drained,  the  sink  receptacle  should  be  a  cemented 
cistern.  You  can  only  keep  foul  matters  out  of  your  well 
by  taking  care  of  them.  Worked  into  the  compost  heap, 
and  then  applied  to  the  lands,  they  will  give  you  nice 
vegetables  and  health.  In  the  wells,  they  will  give  you 
bad  smells  and  disease. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Nov.,  1860. 


.   47.— TIM   BUNKER   ON    CATTLE   DISEASE. 


"  Guess  she's  got  the  cattle  disease,  by  the  looks  on 
her,"  said  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass,  as  he  looked  into 
Jake  F rink's  yard  last  April,  at  one  of  the  sorriest  cows 


156  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

ever  seen  in  Hookertown.  She  was  down  and  unable  to 
got  up,  had  lost  her  calf,  and  was  very  much  down  in 
the  mouth. 

"  What  kind  of  disease  is  that  ?  "  asked  Jake,  solemnly, 
evidently  prepared  to  hear  the  worst. 

"  Cattle  disease !  you  fool,"  exclaimed  Ben  Jones. 
"  She  is  one  of  the  cattle,  and,  of  course,  if  anything  ails 
her,  she's  got  the  cattle  disease." 

"I  rather  think  it's  the  crow  ail,"  suggested  George 
Washington  Tucker,  as  he  joined  his  neighbors  in  the  cow 
yard,  to  sympathize  with  Jake  in  his  affliction.  u  At  any 
rate,  the  crows  will  have  a  meeting  on  her  case  'fore  long, 
see  if  they  don't." 

"Dreadful  cavin  in  for'ard  of  the  hips,"  remarked  Seth 
Twiggs,  as  he  scratched  a  Lucifer  on  the  wall,  and  lit  his 
second  pipe.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was  the  cave,  a 
disease  they've  had  in  Hookertown  this  twenty  year." 

"  It  looks  to  me  like  the  cattle  disease  they  are  having 
up  in  Massachusetts.  The  eyes  are  glassy,  the  hair  stands 
on  end,  and  the  breathing  is  fast,"  remarked  Dea.  Smith. 

"  They  call  it  the  pleuro-pneumonia,  I  believe,"  added 
Mr.  Spooner,  who  reads  agricultural  papers  as  well  as 
theology. 

"Has  it  killed  many  cattle?"  asked  Jake  with  a 
troubled  countenance. 

"  It  has  taken  off  a  good  many  hundreds,  and  is  spread 
ing  into  this  State,"  said  the  pastor. 

"  Then  she's  got  it,"  said  Jake,  "  and  I  shall  lose  her  in 
spite  of  all  doctorin.  Salt  won't  save  her." 

"The  crows  will,  though,"  said  Wash.  Tucker,  who 
clung  to  the  crow  ail,  as  the  only  theory  that  cleared  up 
the  mysteries  of  her  case. 

"I  guess  she's  got  the  slink-fever,"  suggested  Kier 
Frink,  who  had  stopped  his  coal  cart,  to  see  what  the 
trouble  was.  "  They  have  had  it  a  good  deal  on  father's 


CATTLE   DISEASE.-"  SALT    WONT   SAVE   HER."        "   Page  150. 


;IO       vr'svll  f 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  157 

farm  ever  since  I  can  remember.  Cows  lose  their  calves, 
grow  thin  with  a  cough,  and  die." 

"Now,  jest  tell  us,  neighbor  Frink,  what  that  'ere  cow 
has  been  fed  on,  for  I  don't  want  to  feed  mine  the  same 
way,"  said  Seth  Twiggs. 

'  "  Well,  she  haint  been  fed  high  at  all.  She  aint  pizened 
with  oil  meal,  or  any  of  them  feeding  stuffs  they  bring  up 
from  the  city.  You  see,  I'm  rather  short  on't  for  fodder 
and  stable  room,  and  I  kept  the  ole  cow  on  butts  and  swale 
hay  all  the  fore  part  of  winter,  and  foddered  her  at  the 
stack.  She'd  allers  wintered  eout  well  enuf,  and  I  thought 
she  was  so  tuff,  she  wouldn't  mind  it.  I  put  her  on  to  oat 
straw  about  the  middle  of  the  winter,  and  have  kept  her 
in  the  yard  ever  since,  but  nussin  don't  seem  to  agree  with 
the  ole  critter.  She  allers  was  kontrary,  blame  her. 
Guess  she'll  die  jest  eout  of  spite." 

"  Rather  high  feed,"  suggested  Twiggs,  looking  across 
that  pile  of  skin  and  bones  at  me,  as  if  I  was  authority  in 
the  matter. 

"Now,"  said  I,  "the  difficulty  with  this  cow  is  starva 
tion  and  exposure.  If  I  was  here  sitting  upon  a  crowned s 
quest,  I  should  find  under  oath,  that  this  animal  died  of 
hunger  and  cruelty,  administered  by  Jacob  Frink,  of 
Hookertown." 

This  conversation  of  my  neighbors  last  spring  shows 
the  secret  of  a  great  deal  of  the  disease  among  cattle  in 
all  the  Northern  States.  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  had 
something  a  little  extra  up  in  Massachusetts,  perhaps  an 
imported  disease,  that  was  wisely  checked  by  stringent 
legislation  in  that  and  other  States.  The  stock  interest  is 
so  great  in  this  country,  that  we  can  not  well  be  too  vigi 
lant  in  guarding  it.  But  I  think  starvation  and  exposure 
kill  more  cattle  every  year,  than  the  lung  murrain  did. 
This  disease  is  around  in  almost  every  neighborhood,  and 
thousands  are  slain  by  it,  and  other  thousands  are  so  dam 
aged  that  they  are  of  little  or  no  profit  to  their  owners. 


158  THE   TIM    BUNKEK   PAPEKS. 

It  is  not  thought  contagious,  and  yet  it  is  wonderful,  how 
it  goes  through  a  whole  herd,  and  spreads  from  farm  to 
farm.  Yet  nobody  is  alarmed,  because  he  is  familiar  with 
the  disease,  and  knows  the  remedy  is  of  easy  application. 

Now,  Mr.  Editor,  I  want  to  have  my  say  on  this  subject, 
and  you  musn't  put  the  stopper  on  till  I  have  it  out.  You« 
see,  now  is  the  time  to  prevent  this  disease.  If  you  neg 
lect  cattle  till  they  get  down  in  the  yard,  like  Jake  Frink's 
cow,  it  is  too  late,  or  if  it  isn't  too  late,  it  will  cost  all 
they  are  worth  to  get  them  up  into  good  flesh  again. 
You  see,  folks  are  greatly  mistaken  about  what  constitutes 
the  value  of  an  ox  or  cow.  I  take  it,  it  isn't  the  breath 
of  life  in  the  carcass  that  makes  a  cow  or  ox  worth  having. 
But  this  seems  to  be  the  popular  notion,  that  a  cow  is  a 
cow,  whether  she  have  five  hundred  pounds  of  good  whole 
some  flesh  between  her  skin  and  bones,  or  the  skin  and 
bones  have  come  together  pretty  much  like  a  collapsed 
steam  boiler.  Men  calling  themselves  farmers,  and  living 
in  a  farming  community  like  Hookertown,  seem  to  think 
that  a  poor,  half-starved  cow  in  the  spring  is  in  just  as 
good  condition  to  give  milk,  and  make  butter  and  cheese, 
as  one  well  fed.  They  think  all  the  hay  and  meal  they 
can  cheat  their  cattle  out  of  in  the  winter,  is  so  much  clear 
gain.  They  keep  animals  out  of  doors,  at  the  stack-yard, 
through  all  this  cold,  stormy  weather,  that  are  expected  to 
bring  calves  next  April.  They  lie  upon  the  frozen  earth, 
and  often  upon  the  snow,  with  the  thermometer  at  zero  or 
below.  They  are  fed  upon  corn-stalks,  and  often  upon 
poor  hay,  without  meal  or  roots.  Now  I  am  not  particu 
larly  savage  in  my  disposition,  but  I  should  like  to  have 
these  improvident  stock  owners  spend  just  one  night,  at 
the  stack-yard,  with  their  poor  shivering  cattle.  I  rather 
guess  they  would  build  barns  or  sheds,  and  make  them 
comfortable. 

A  cow  kept  in  this  way,  comes  out  in  the  spring  in  poor 
flesh,  too  weak  to  bear  a  good  calf,  or  to  make  good  veal, 


THE    TIM   BUNKER    PAPERS.  159 

if  the  calf  is  doomed  for  the  butcher.  Half  the  summer 
is  spent  in  recovering  the  flesh  she  has  lost  during  winter. 
A  few  years  of  such  treatment  weakens  her  vital  force  so 
that  she  is  liable  to  die  a  hardening,  long  before  she  be 
comes  an  old  cow.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  cattle  become 
diseased  under  such  treatment,  that  the  ribs  stick  out,  and 
the  hair  sticks  up,  and  the  crows  scent  their  prey  ?  We 
have  got  laws  that  fine  men  heavily  for  abusing  dumb 
animals  with  the  whip.  We  ought  to  have  others  that 
will  prevent  them  from  torturing  their  animals  with  irost 
and  hunger. 

My  remedy  for  cattle  disease  is,  first,  good  warm  stables. 
They  can  be  made  tight,  and  at  the  same  time  be  \vell 
ventilated,  so  that  the  thermometer  will  not  sink  much 
below  the  freezing  point.  Without  good  stables,  no 
amount  of  feeding  can  keep  the  animal  comfortable,  or 
make  it  profitable  to  the  owner. 

And  secondly,  good  feed,  and  plenty  of  it,  good  timothy 
or  clover  hay  well  cured — corn  meal,  oat  meal,  linseed  oil 
cake  meal,  or  cotton  seed  meal,  with  the  roots — carrots, 
beets  and  turnips — are  articles  that  should  enter  into  the 
bill  of  fare.  As  a  rule,  the  more  a  cow  eats,  the  more 
profitable  she  is  to  her  owner.  You  might  as  well  think 
of  having  meal  when  you  don't  put  corn  into  the  hopper, 
as  milk  and  butter  without  plenty  of  fodder.  There  is 
nothing  like  having  a  good  lot  of  flesh  and  fat  to  start  up 
on  in  the  spring,  if  you  want  to  make  a  good  dairy,  and 
keep  your  cattle  clear  of  disease. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Dec.,  1860. 


160  THE   TIM    BUNKEK    PAPERS. 

.  48.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  SEED. 


"  Where  you  get  de  seed  of  dem  big  beets  you  raise  last 
year,  Massa  Bunker  ?  "  said  Jim  Baker  to  me  this  morn 
ing.  "  Never  seed  sich  beets  down  South  in  all  my  life. 
Reckon  dey  come  from  Africa,  or  somewhere  dey  git  up 
airly  in  de  morning." 

"  No,  Jim,  I  got  them  from  New  York,  where  they  lie 
abed  badly  in  the  morning,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  Half  of 
them  don't  get  their  breakfast  till  nine  o'clock." 

"  Can't  be,  Massa.  Must  have  come  from  some  place 
close  by  sunrise,  or  dey  never  growed  so  big.  I  watch 
'em  last  summer,  and  I  declare  fur  sartin,  I  th'ot  dey  never 
would  stop  growin." 

Jim  Baker,  though  he  has  been  with  us  but  two  or  three 
years,  is  one  of  the  institutions  of  Hookertown,  as  much 
so  as  Mr.  Spooner,  or  the  school-master.  He  was  liberated 
by  his  master,  a  few  years  ago,  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
negroes  upon  the  estate,  and  sent  out  to  Liberia.  He  had 
made  himself  useful  upon  the  plantation  as  cooper,  in  pre 
paring  sugar  and  molasses  casks.  He  went  out  to  Liberia, 
with  rather  elevated  notions  of  that  land  of  promise,  and 
of  the  freedom  he  was  there  to  enjoy.  Feeling  rather 
above  digging  for  a  living,  and  not  finding  much  demand 
for  a  cooper's  labors  in  that  new  country,  he  became  home 
sick,  and  took  the  first  vessel  bound  for  the  States.  Some 
of  his  shipmates  hailed  from  this  place,  and  Jim  brought 
up  here,  and  considers  himself  settled  for  life.  He  takes 
naturally  to  gardening,  and  often  excites  the  envy  of  Jake 
Frink,  by  beating  him  on  garden  sauce,  and  a  rude  kind 
of  joking,  which  Jake  calls  "sassy"  Jim  takes  note  of 
all  the  best  gardens,  as  he  goes  round  doing  odd  jobs 
among  the  villagers,  and  is  an  appreciative  beggar  of  good 
seeds.  He  turns  up  the  white  of  his  eyes  at  an  extra  sized 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  161 

patch  of  onions,  and  if  he  can  not  get  a  dozen  of  the  bulbs 
to  set  out,  he  wants  just  a  pinch  of  the  seed  to  plant. 
With  his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  that  deferential  air  which 
marks  the  well-bred  servant,  he  is  pretty  sure  to  get  what 
he  wants.  "  Nebber  could  see,  Massa  Bunker,  what's  the 
use  planting  poor  seed.  Sartin  to  git  jest  what  you  plant." 

Jim's  philosophy  and  Jake  Frink's  do  not  belong  to 
the  same  school.  Jake  thinks  a  seed  is  a  seed,  just  as  a 
cow  is  a  cow,  whether  she  is  a  skeleton,  or  has  five  hun 
dred  weight  of  beef  laid  in  between  her  skin  and  bones. 
Jake  has  no  idea  but  what  old  seeds  are  just  as  good  as 
any,  and  so  he  keeps  his  old  stock  on  hand  from  year  to 
year.  He  has  an  old  basket  in  his  pantry  for  this  purpose, 
and  there  you  will  find  seeds  of  the  cucumber,  squash, 
pepper,  corn,  beans,  onion,  cabbage,  turnip,  nasturtium, 
and  a  little  of  every  thing  else  that  ever  grew  in  his  gar 
den.  They  have  no  labels,  and  there  is  no  means  of  as 
certaining  the  age  of  any  package  in  the  basket.  Some 
he  has  begged,  a  few  he  has  bought,  but  the  most  he  has 
raised  upon  his  own  premises  in  that  slipshod  way  that 
marks  every  thing  about  the  establishment,  and  which  has 
long  since  passed  into  a  proverb.  If  you  were  to  say  a 
thing  looked  frinky,  every  man  in  Hookertown  would 
know  just  what  you  meant. 

The  last  three  or  four  cabbage  stumps,  or  turnips,  he 
happens  to  have  left  in  the  spring,  are  set  out  without  any 
regard  to  quality  or  variety.  So  his  cabbage  is  neither 
Early  York,  nor  Drumhead,  Red  Dutch,  nor  Savoy,  but  a 
mongrel  stock,  showing  streaks  of  every  thing  he  has 
raised.  His  turnips  and  other  tap-roots  follow  the  same 
law,  for  they  have  all  been  cultivated  upon  the  same  sys 
tem.  Jake  has  no  idea  of  the  mixing  of  varieties  in  the 
blossom,  or  of  their  running  down  by  bad  cultivation.  - 

With  Jim  Baker,  a  seed  is  not  a  seed.  "  Tell  you  what, 
Massa  Bunker,  every  ting  'pends  on  what  you  plant.  In 
iquities  of  de  fUders  visited  on  de  children,  and  no  mis- 


162  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

take."  Jim  lives  up  to  his  philosophy,  as  a  good  many 
people  who  talk  more  do  not.  The  best  beets  are  select 
ed,  and  planted  in  good  rich  soil,  and  the  seeds  are  care 
fully  labeled  and  put  away  where  they  can  be  found  in 
planting  time.  Dinah  cleans  out  the  old  basket  every  fall, 
and  nothing  but  the  seeds  of  the  squashes,  and  other  vines, 
are  allowed  to  remain  over  a  second  year. 

I  raise  but  few  seeds  myself,  because  I  have  found  it 
better  economy  to  buy  such  as  I  want  at  the  large  agri 
cultural  warehouses  in  the  city.  As  a  rule,  the  men  who 
devote  their  time  to  raising  seeds  will  get  a  better  article 
than  those  who  have  other  business  constantly  upon  their 
hands.  Their  success  in  business  depends  upon  their  fi 
delity,  and  they  are  generally  careful  to  give  the  public  a 
good  article.  Well-established  lirms  in  the  city  have  ex 
tensive  arrangements  with  seed  growers  in  all  parts  of  this 
country  and  of  Europe,  to  furnish  the  best  articles  in  their 
respective  lines  of  business.  If  I  want  twenty  varieties 
of  garden  seeds,  it  is  much  less  trouble  to  send  an  order 
for  them  by  express,  than  it  is  to  try  to  raise  them,  and 
take  care  of  them. 

This  month  I  always  lay  in  my  stock  of  seeds,  the  best 
varieties,  and  enough  of  them.  I  know  just  how  much 
ground  I  am  going  to  plant  in  each  crop,  and  can  tell 
within  a  few  ounces  of  the  quantity  I  shall  need  of  each 
variety.  If  it  is  put  off  till  planting  time,  when  every 
thing  is  in  a  hurry,  the  best  time  for  planting  often  goes 
by  before  you  are  ready,  and  you  get  only  a  partial  crop. 
The  best  investments  I  have  ever  made  in  a  small  way 
have  been  in  this  article.  Take  particular  notice.  Never 
buy  cheap  seed. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Feb.,  1861. 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  163 

NO.  49.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  BREASTWORKS. 


ME.  EDITOR  : — There  never  was  such  a  stir  in  Hooker- 
town  before,  since  the  days  of  the  Revolution,  and  I 
doubt  if  the  fathers  were  any  more  lively  than  our 
folks  are.  I  never  shall  forget  the  Sunday  when  the  news 
came  that  Fort  Sumter  was  on  fire.  I  shouldn't  felt  worse 
if  Connecticut  River  had  sunk,  or  Hookertown  been  de 
stroyed  by  an  earthquake,  and  since  that  Sunday  we 
haven't  talked  about  much  else  but  the  war.  The  next 
Sunday,  Mr.  Spoouer  preached  a  sermon  from  the  text, 
"He  that  hath  no  sword,  let  him  sell  his  garment  and  buy 
one,"  that  made  every  man's  heart  go  like  a  trip-hammer. 
The  next  day,  we  had  a  liberty  pole  raised  a  hundred  feet 
high,  and  a  flag  hung  out,  that  went  through  the  last  war, 
with  several  shot  holes  through  it.  We  have  raised  a 
company  of  eighty  men,  and  money  enough  to  sup 
port  them  for  a  year.  Almost  every  family  that  had  any 
grown-up  boys  has  sent  one  or  more  to  the  war.  The 
middle-aged  men  and  old  ones  have  formed  themselves 
into  a  Home  Guard,  and  if  the  boys  don't  put  things 
through  in  good  shape,  we  are  going  ourselves  to  straighten 
them  out. 

John  came  home  from  meeting  after  Mr.  Spooner's  ser 
mon,  and  says  he : 

"  Mother,  I  am  going  to  enlist." 

Mrs.  Bunker  raised  her  spectacles  from  Scott's  Bible, 
which  she  happened  to  be  reading  just  then,  and  said  she: 

"  I  can't  make  any  objections,  John.  Your  grandfather 
fought  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  Mr.  Spooner  says  this  is  a  con 
tinuation  of  the  same  war,  a  war  for  the  life  of  the  nation. 
I  hope  you  will  show  that  the  Bunker  family  has  not  de 
generated." 

John  being  our  only  boy  brings  the  thing  pretty  close 
home  to  us,  but  now  that  the  ministers  and  women  are 


164  THE    TIM    F.UXKER    PAPERS. 

raised,  there  can't  be  any  backing  down.  There  is  no 
trouble  about  getting  troops,  and  money  enough  to  sup 
port  them.  They  all  want  to  go.  You  see,  a  man  might 
as  well  emigrate  at  once,  as  to  have  the  women  agin  him. 

But  I  have  been  thinking  that  we  are  in  danger  of  leav 
ing  an  enemy  in  the  rear,  that  we  have  not  been  calculat 
ing  upon.  I  have  always  noticed  that  excited  people  are 
not  the  best  judges  of  expediency.  Many  a  brave  general 
has  been  conquered  by  an  enemy  in  the  rear.  In  going  to 
war,  you  see,  quite  as  much  depends  upon  having  the 
inner  man  fortified,  as  upon  having  breastworks  between 
us  and  the  enemy.  You  see,  a  soldier  is  a  sort  of  engine, 
that  won't  go  without  fire  any  more  than  a  locomotive. 
And  you  have  to  supply  the  fire,  wood,  and  water,  three 
times  a  day  pretty  regular,  or  your  army  of  soldiers  is  no 
better  than  a  flock  of  sheep.  Men  can't  fight  on  an  empty 
stomach.  You  see,  this  fighting  is  a  good  deal  like  mow 
ing,  or  rather  like  pitching  on  a  load  of  hay  when  a  thun 
der  shower  is  coming  up,  and  you  have  only  twenty  min 
utes  to  get  the  load  on,  and  to  get  it  into  the  barn.  There 
is  nothing  like  a  well-fed  stomach  to  do  sharp  work  on  ; 
even  a  good  conscience  and  a  good  cause  don't  amount  to 
much  without  it. 

Now,  you  see,  the  enemy  we  are  like  to  leave  in  the 
rear*,  is  short  crops.  There  may  be  no  danger  of  famine 
in  this  country,  where  land  is  so  cheap,  and  where  so  large 
a  part  of  the  people  are  farmers.  But  there  is  danger  of 
short  crops,  and  a  very  high  price  for  all  kinds  of  provi 
sions  and  breadstuffs,  which  occasions  a  great  deal  of  suf 
fering  among  the  poor  in  the  cities  and  villages,  and  throws 
everything  into  confusion.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  this 
is  the  enemy  that  farmers  are  particularly  called  upon  to 
guard  against. 

We  have  got  material  enough  for  soldiers  in  our  cities 
and  villages,  merchants  and  mechanics  who  are  thrown  out 
of  employment,  or  whose  profits  are  very  much  reduced  by 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  165 

the  disordered  state  of  business.  While  they  are  rearing 
the  breastworks  outside,  we  must  take  care  of  the  breast 
works  within,  and  see  that  they  are  well  fortified  with 
beef,  pork,  mutton,  bread,  potatoes,  etc.  There  isn't  quite 
so  much  glory  attached  to  this  kind  of  fortification,  as 
there  is  to  gunpowder  and  musketry,  but  there  is  quite  as 
much  virtue  in  it.  You  see,  powder  and  ball  are  not 
worth  much  after  the  pork  and  beef  fail.  Many  more  forts 
have  had  to  surrender  for  want  of  provisions  than  for  want 
of  powder. 

Now,  the  women  and  young  folks  don't  see  this  so 
clearly  as  men  who  have  smelt  the  smoke  of  battle.  They 
go  in  for  the  fuss  and  feathers,  and  worship  the  epaulets 
and  military  caps,  and  think  these  are  going  to  save  the 
country.  The  real  battle-field  will  be  in  the  rear  of  the 
armies,  away  down  in  the  Gulf  States,  and  north  of  the 
Ohio  and  the  Potomac,  and  the  steel  that  will  do  most 
execution  is  that  which  furrows  the  bosom  of  the  peaceful  • 
earth,  rather  than  human  bosoms.  In  modern  times,  the 
plowshare  is  the  most  potent  of  all  military  weapons,  for 
it  supplies  gold  to  the  military  chest,  powder  to  cannon, 
and  rears  those  inward  fortifications,  without  which  earth 
works,  fosses,  and  granite-walls  are  useless.  Every  wheat 
field  with  its  plumed  heads  is  a  regiment  of  soldiers,  and 
every  stalk  of  corn,  with  its  golden  ears  upon  the  field  'of 
peace,  is  a  sentinel  doing  duty  for  the  country. 

This  is  about  the  pith  of  public  sentiment  up  here 
among  the  old  folks,  and  I  send  it  down  for  what  it  is 
worth.  It  struck  me  that  there  was  something  in  it 
worth  considering,  when  every  man  is  anxious  to  get  off 
to  the  war.  It  will  never  do  to  have  an  enemy  in  the 
rear.  You  see,  I  go  in  for  breastworks  and  fortifications, 
especially  for  the  inner  man. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

JETookertown,  June,  1861. 


166  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

NO.  50.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  LIGHTNING  RODS. 


MR.  EDITOR: — "What  are  you  putting  up  that  iron 
thing  on  your  barn  for?"  asked  Jake  Frink,  as  we  were 
at  work  upon  the  last  job  about  the  barn,  which  I  have  not 
yet  said  anything  about  in  the  American  Agriculturist. 

"  I  am  going  to  have  the  barn  finished,"  I  said.  "  We 
want  a  rod  just  as  much  as  we  want  windows  in  the  frames, 
or  shingles  on  the  roof." 

"  I  guess  the  litenin  '11  go  where  it  is  sent,  rod  or  no 
rod,"  observed  Tucker,  as  he  thrust  a  new  piece  of  pig-tail 
into  his  cheek. 

"  Wasn't  Squire  Rodman's  house  struck  with  lightnin 
last  week,  though  it  had  a  rod  on  it  ?"  asked  Jones,  trium 
phantly. 

"  Yes,  but  the  rod  was  joined  with  hooks  and  eyes,  and 
the  connection  was  not  perfect,"  observed  Mr.  Spooner, 
who  was  one  of  the  group. 

"  Don't  you  think  you're  provokin  the  Almighty  by  put- 
tin  up  that  rod  ?"  asked  Deacon  Little,  who  has  never  for 
given  me  for  turning  salt  marsh  into  meadow,  and  rais 
ing  three  tuns  of  herds-grass  to  the  acre.  "  You  see," 
continued  the  Deacon,  in  his  favorite  style  of  argument, 
"  that  what  is  to  be,  will  be,  and  you  can't  help  it  by 
lightnin  rods  or  any  other  instrumentality.  If  it  is  decreed 
that  your  barn  is  to  be  struck  with  lightnin,  I  gness  iron 
rods  ain't  goin'  to  save  it.  A  man  better  not  tamper  with 
thunderbolts." 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  Tucker,  what  have  you  got  a  chimney 
to  your  house  for  ?" 

"  Why,  to  carry  the  smoke  oif,  to  be  sure,  and  to  keep 
the  house  from  burning  up  when  we  make  a  fire." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  won't  the  smoke  go  where  it  is  sent, 
just  as  much  as  the  lightning  ?  And  yet  you  don't  find 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  1CT 

any  difficulty  in  making  the  smoke  follow  the  inside  of 
the  chimney,  until  it  gets  up  in  the  air  out  of  your  way. 
Kow,  I  admit  that  lightning  is  a  little  more  dangerous  to 
handle  than  smoke,  but  it  follows  certain  laws,  just  as 
straight  as  smoke  does.  You  see,  lightning  has  what  the 
philosophers  call  an  affinity  for  iron,  and  it  follows  the  out 
side  of  a  rod,  just  as  smoke  does  the  inside  of  a  chimney. 
Some  say  it  goes  down,  and  others  say  it  goes  up.  At  any 
rate,  it  sticks  to  the  rod,  and  so  passes  off  without  doing 
any  damage,  just  as  smoke  sticks  to  the  chimney.  If  you 
want  to  know  why  it  does  that,  I  will  tell  you  when  you 
can  tell  why  smoke  goes  up  chimney.  It  follows  the  road 
that  is  built  for  it,  just  as  regularly  as  a  locomotive  follows 
the  railroad." 

"  An  engine  would  go  rather  promiscuous,  Squire,  if  t 
wa'nt  for  them  'ere  rails,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  blew 
an  extra  puff  from  his  pipe,  illustrating  that  smoke  would 
go  where  it  was  sent,  when  it  did  not  follow  a  chimney. 

"  But  that  ain't  a  fair  argument,"  said  Deacon  Little, 
"  you  know  it  ain't,  Tim  Bunker,  you  infidel.  We  make 
smoke  and  can  control  it,  but  the  Almighty  makes  the 
lightning." 

"  Well,  Deacon,"  I  asked,  "  What  have  you  put  shingles 
upon  your  house  for  ?" 

"  Why,  to  shed  rain,  of  course." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  "  and  the  Almighty  makes  the 
rain,  if  he  don't  make  smoke ;  and  if  a  man  is  to  be  wet, 
he  will  be,  and  you  can't  help  it  by  putting  shingles  over 
his  head,  or  by  any  other  instrumentality.  It  is  no  use 
tampering  with  what  Noah's  deluge  was  made  of." 

The  Deacon  saw  he  was  caught,  and  looked  over  to  Mr. 
Spooner  for  help.  He  always  believes  in  Mr.  Spooner's 
orthodoxy,  when  he  sides  with  himself,  otherwise  he  is 
heretical. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  get  round  the  Squire's  argu 
ment  against  shingles,"  remarked  Mr.  Spooner,  rather  dryly. 


168  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PA.PEES. 

"  It  stands  to  reason,"  I  continued,  by  way  of  clinching 
the  argument,  "  that  rain  is  just  as  much  a  Heaven-sent 
article  as  lightning.  If  a  man  is  wise  in  turning  off  the 
rain,  by  a  shingle,  he  cannot  be  a  fool,  or  an  infidel,  in 
turning  off  the  lightning  by  an  iron  rod."  It  is  surprising, 
Mr.  Editor,  to  find  so  much  ignorance  and  prejudice  in 
the  community  against  the  use  of  lightning  rods.  It  is 
just  as  well  settled,  in  the  minds  of  all  intelligent  people, 
that  these  conductors  are  a  complete  protection  against 
lightning,  as  it  is  that  roofs  are  a  complete  protection 
against  the  storm.  Roofs  sometimes  leak,  and  the  rods 
sometimes  do  not  connect.  In  either  case,  the  fault  is  not 
in  the  theory,  but  in  the  imperfect  realization  of  it.  A 
whole  roof  is  a  complete  protection  against  rain.  A  good 
rod  is  a  complete  safeguard  against  lightning.  And  yet 
we  find  a  hundred  roofs  where  we  find  one  rod.  A  house 
or  barn  is  considered  finished  when  the  roof  is  on,  and  the 
glass  is  in  the  windows.  I  don't  consider  it  finished  until 
the  lightning  rod  is  on. 

Most  people  consider  it  pretty  good  policy  to  get  in 
sured  '  against  fire,  though  there  are  some  who  seem  to 
think  it  a  sort  of  gambling  to  do  that.  A  man  builds  a 
barn,  worth  $3,000,  and  when  his  stock  and  hay  and  grain 
are  in,  it  is  worth  not  less  than  $5,000.  He  gets  it  in 
sured,  at  a  cost,  say  of  $10  a  year,  and  thinks  it  good  econ 
omy.  Upon  the  same  principle  that  a  man  gets  insured 
against  fire,  I  think  he  had  better  get  insured  against  light 
ning.  It  is  much  cheaper,  and  he  has  the  advantage  of 
being  his  own  insurance  company.  All  the  rods  that  pro 
tect  my  barn,  with  the  expense  of  putting  them  up,  cost 
only  $33,  the  interest  on  which  is  only  $2  a  year.  The 
protection  is  perfect,  and  the  rods  will  last  as  long  as  the 
barn  does.  Here  is  $5,000  worth  of  property  made  sure 
against  lightning,  for  $2  a  year. 

It  is  very  common  to  read  in  the  papers  of  lightning- 
striking  barns — setting  them  on  fire,  or  killing  oxen  and 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  169 

horses  sheltered  in  them.  I  consider  that  there  is  more 
danger  to  buildings  in  the  country  from  this  source  than 
there  is  from  fire.  In  the  city  it  is  different.  The  light 
ning  rod  is  a  very  cheap  insurance  company.  It  never 
proves  bankrupt  and  fails  to  pay.  Dishonest  clerks  will 
not  run  away  with  the  capital.  Scamps  and  scoundrels 
can't  steal  the  fluid,  and  fire  the  barn  with  it.  It  will  fol 
low  the  rod  with  a  good  deal  more  certainty  than  smoke 
follows  the  chimney. 

The  pecuniary  advantage  of  this  protection  is  clear 
enough,  and  I  guess  Deacon  Little  will  begin  to  see  it 
pretty  soon.  But  this  is  only  one  item.  You  see,  it  is  a 
great  satisfaction  to  know  that  your  stock  and  your  fam 
ily,  as  well  as  your  buildings,  are  all  safe  when  a  thunder 
shower  comes  up.  I  am  not  more  scary  than  most  people, 
but  it  is  a  mighty  uncomfortable  sensation,  when  the  thun 
der  is  crashing  around  your  dwelling,  to  think  that  the 
next  bolt  may  find  its  way  to  the  earth,  through  your 
body,  or  through  one  of  your  family.  As  our  bodies  are 
very  good  conductors,  and  we  are  not  born  with  lightning 
rods  on  us,  I  think  we  had  better  put  them  on  our  houses, 
and  then  the  lightning  will  go  just  where  we  send  it. 

I  always  noticed,  before  I  put  up  the  rod,  that  Mrs. 
Bunker  took  to  the  bed  as  regular  as  a  thunder  gust  came 
up  in  the  summer.  She  has  got  considerable  courage,  but 
she  said  "  no  woman  could  be  expected  to  stand  light 
ning."  But  since  we  have  had  the  rod,  she  sits  by  the 
window  reading,  with  her  spectacles  on,  just  as  calmly  as 
if  the  lightning  never  killed  folks.  I  don't  know  how  two 
or  three  dollars  a  year  could  purchase  so  much  comfort  in 
any  other  article.  People's  tastes  differ,  you  see,  about 
comfort.  Mine  runs  towards  lightning  rods. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooJcertown,  July  15th,  1861. 


170  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

NO.  51.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  BUYING  A  FARM. 


MR.  EDITOR: — Deacon  Smith  has  just  been  in  to  talk 
over  the  matter  of  buying  a  farm  for  his  son  David.  You 
see,  I  have  lots  of  neighbors  that  come  to  me  regularly  for 
advice,  since  I  took  to  wilting  for  the  papers.  I  expect  I 
have  about  as  much  business  of  this  kind  on  my  hands  as 
if  I  had  advertised,  "  TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ.,  CONSULTING 
AGRICULTURIST."  How  that  card  would  look  in  the  pa 
pers  !  If  a  neighbor  wants  to  buy  a  horse,  I  am  expected 
to  tell  him  whether  he  is  sound,  just  as  if  I  could  read  his 
in'ards  like  a  book.  If  another  wants  to  sow  wheat,  he 
seems  to  think  it  won't  grow,  until  I  have  told  what  lot 
to  sow  it  on.  I  declare  I  believe  some  of  them  think  wa 
ter  wont  run  in  a  tile,  unless  I  have  squinted  along  the 
bore,  and  told  them  just  how  much  fall  they  must  have  to 
the  100  feet. 

You  see,  the  farming  business  has  not  caved  in  yet,  not 
withstanding  the  hard  times.  A  good  many  of  the  fac 
tories  have  stopped,  and  some  mechanics  that  have  been 
doing  pretty  well,  are  now  idle.  Nobody  now  wants  to 
buy  a  fine  carriage,  or  to  build  a  splendid  house.  People 
who  have  money  do  not  like  to  spend  it  for  articles  of  lux 
ury,  and  people  who  have  got  their  living  by  making  these 
things,  have  been  thrown  out  of  employment.  But  the 
oldest  of  all  employments  is  yet  a  thriving  business,  though 
the  profits  are  not  quite  equal  to  what  they  have  been.  We 
must  have  breastworks  for  the  w;ir,  and  when  the  war  is 
over,  there  will  still  be  a  demand  for  the  fortifications  in 
side.  We  buy  and  sell  farms  out  here,  and  expect  to  for 
some  time  to  come.  I  rather  think  farming  will  be  the 
best  business  going  for  some  years  ahead.  As  a  people, 
we  have  been  living  altogether  too  fast,  for  the  last  twenty 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  171 

years.  The  change  in  the  style  of  living  would  make  the 
bones  of  our  fathers  rattle  in  their  graves.  We  have 
got  to  come  back  to  a  more  simple  mode  of  life,  and  spend 
less  on  our  stomachs,  and  a  good  deal  less  on  our  backs, 
especially  our  women.  Only  to  think  of  a  thousand  dollar 
shawl  on  one  woman — a  whole  farm  with  its  fifty  acres  of 
soil  on  the  shoulders  of  one  individual  ?  They  do  say  the 
like  of  it  might  be  seen  in  your  city  less  than  a  year  ago. 
I  rather  guess  some  of  them  fast  men  with  their  fast  wo 
men  are  wishing  they  had  some  of  their  scattered  coin  back 
again  in  their  tills.  Why,  my  mother,  bless  her  memory, 
never  spent  a  thousand  dollars  for  dress  in  her  whole  life,  and 
she  lived  to  be  eighty.  Now,  there  is  reason  in  all  things,  as 
she  used  to  say,  and  we  have  got  to  be  a  good  deal  more 
reasonable  in  our  family  expenses,  or  slump  through.  This 
war  will  bring  all  our  people  to  their  bearings,  and  make 
us  spend  our  money  for  something  worth  having — for  a 
principle,  and  not  for  pudding  and  pomatum.  There  will 
be  some  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  we  have  maintained 
the  liberties  and  the  blessed  institutions  handed  down 
from  our  fathers,  at  any  cost.  I  have  given  my  boy  to 
this  cause,  and  if  I  have  to  give  my  farm,  I  think  I  shall 
grow  rich  by  the  operation.  What  is  property  worth  to 
Tim  Bunker  when  his  country  is  lost  ?  I  have  thought  a 
good  deal  about  this  war,  especially  since  John  enlisted, 
and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  it  will  have  a  great 
many  advantages  as  well  as  evils.  It  will  stop  this  fast 
living  and  extravagance,  and  bring  back  a  great  many  to 
the  simple  habits  and  sterling  virtues  of  our  fathers.  It 
is  better  to  make  sacrifices  for  a  noble  cause,  than  to  make 
money. 

A  good  many,  like  Deacon  Smith's  son  David,  are  be 
ginning  to  see  a  comfortable,  honest,  happy  life  on  a  farm, 
who  would  otherwise  have  been  tempted  to  try  their  for 
tunes  in  the  city,  and  gone  tQ  ruin  like  the  thousands  be 
fore  them.  I  have  thought  a  good  many  would  be  look- 


THE   TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

ing  toward  the  farm  this  fall,  and  the  substance  of  my  talk 
with  the  Deacon  might  be  useful. 

I  lay  it  down  as  a  principle,  that  a  man  ought  to  own 
at  least  half  the  capital  he  means  to  invest  in  farming.  If 
a  man  has  nothing  but  labor  to  dispose  of,  he  should  sell 
his  labor  to  the  best  advantage,  until  he  accumulates  suf 
ficient  capital  to  set  him  up  in  business.  Not  one  man  in 
a  hundred  will  succeed,  who  runs  in  debt  for  his  farm  and 
stock.  There  must  be  several  hundred  dollars  of  interest 
money  to  pay  every  year,  and  this  will  be  a  heavy  load  to 
carry,  with  all  the  other  expenses.  But  if  he  have  money 
enough  to  buy  a  hundred  acres  of  land,  he  may  safely  rim 
in  debt  for  the  tools  and  stock.  We  must  have  some  float 
ing  capital  always  on  hand,  to  take  advantage  of  the 
times,  and  buy  cheap  when  we  can.  If  a  man  wants  more 
stock,  it  is  better  to  buy  it  when  stock  is  low,  than  when 
it  is  very  high.  Sometimes  a  little  extra  manure  will  help 
out  a  crop  wonderfully,  and  fifty  dollars  spent  in  guano 
or  bone-dust  will  bring  back  a  hundred  in  less  than  six 
months.  It  is  very  important  to  have  the  fifty  dollars 
where  you  can  lay  your  hand  on  it. 

Then  a  man  ought  to  consider  his  own  habits  and 
tastes,  in  the  location  of  his  farm.  This  is  especially  im 
portant  to  men  who  have  lived  in  the  city,  and  enjoyed 
its  advantages.  Society  is  much  more  a  necessity  to  them 
than  to  a  man  who  has  always  lived  in  the  country.  He 
will  feel  uneasy  without  the  daily  mail,  and  a  little  of  the 
stir  to  which  he  has  been  accustomed.  He  should  by  all 
means  locate  near  a  village,  or  on  the  line  of  some  railroad. 
The  farm,  good  as  it  is,  will  not  be  a  substitute  for  every 
thing  he  has  been  accustomed  to.  And  if  a  man  have  been 
bred  to  this  business,  he  should  consider  what  particular 
department  of  husbandry  he  likes  best.  A  man  bred  to 
the  routine  of  a  grain  farm  would  probably  do  better 
with  this  than  with  a  stock  farm.  It  is  less  important 
that  a  grain  farm  should  be  near  a  village,  or  city,  than  a 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  173 

farm  where  a  mixed  husbandry  prevails,  and  where  a  near 
market  is  essential.  A  man  with  a  genius  for  trade  should 
locate  near  a  good  market,  and  raise  everything  that  sells 
well,  both  animal  and  vegetable  products. 

If  one  has  a  fancy  for  stock,  cheap  land  and  a  wide  range 
of  pasturage  are  essential  to  success.  A  valuable  horse  or 
yoke  of  cattle  may  as  well  be  marketed  a  hundred  miles 
off,  as  sold  upon  the  farm.  Most  of  the  horses  and  beef 
cattle  sold  in  your  city  are  raised  from  a  thousand  to  fif 
teen  hundred  miles  away.  Land  worth  a  hundred  dollars 
and  upward  an  acre,  as  many  of  the  farms  are  near  cities, 
cannot  be  devoted  profitably  to  pastures.  They  are  worth 
more  for  something  else. 

It  is  always  well  to  remember,  in  making  a  purchase  of 
so  much  importance,  that  farms,  as  well  as  men,  have  a 
good  or  bad  reputation,  that  is  generally  deserved.  Some 
farms  are  so  fertile,  so  well  proportioned,  or  so  convenient 
to  market,  that  they  have  always  kept  their  owners  in 
thriving  circumstances.  Trace  their  history  clear  back  to 
the  first  settlement  of  the  country,  and  you  will  find  every 
owner  what  the  world  calls  a  lucky  fellow.  Other  farms 
have  the  name  of  always  keeping  their  owners  poor.  Some 
times  they  are  in  an  unhealthy  district,  and  much  sickness 
has  made  large  doctor's  bills.  Xow  unless  you  know  just 
what  the  secret  of  an  unlucky  farm  is,  and  can  remedy  it, 
avoid  such  a  spot  as  you  would  the  poor-house.  You  can 
not  afford  to  try  many  experiments  in  a  matter  of  so  much 
importance.  Is  it  a  swamp  that  needs  draining  ?  You 
may  safely  venture,  for  there  is  wealth  as  well  as  health  in 
knocking  the  bottom  out  of  it.  But  as  a  rule,  it  is  better 
to  buy  a  farm  that  has  a  good  reputation.  If  it  has  made 
others  prosperous,  with  better  husbandry  it  may  make 
you  rich. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooTcertown,  Aug.  7th,  1861. 


174  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

NO.  52.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  TOP-DRESSING  AND 
FEEDING  AFTERMATH. 

A   SECOND   LOOK   AT   HOOKEKTOWN   IMPKOVEMENTS. 

"  Bigger  than  'twas  last  year,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he 
looked  over  into  the  horse-pond  lot  where  I  was  mowing 
this  morning. 

"  I  declare  it  looks  like  a  rye  field,"  said  Mr.  Spooner, 
as  he  measured  a  head  of  herds-grass,  ten  inches  long,  by 
a  small  rule  that  he  carries  in  his  pocket.  A  mighty  ac 
curate  man  is  Mr.  Spooner.  I  expect  he  gets  in  the  way 
of  exact  speech,  studying  his  sermons,  for  he  makes  the 
joints  fit  so  close,  that  they  won't  leak  water.  When  he 
says  ten  inches,  you  may  know  it  ain't  a  sixteenth  short. 
I  should  expect  to  find  it  a  quarter  over. 

"  You  see  it  is  up  to  the  Squire's  breast,  plump  four 
foot  high,"  exclaimed  Jake  Frink,  as  he  leaned  over  the 
wall.  "  Guess  I  was  the  biggest  fool  in  town  when  I  sold 
that  piece  of  land  for  a  song." 

"  Not  half  so  big  a  fool  then  as  you  are  now,  for  keep 
ing  the  better  half  of  your  farm  as  starved  as  this  was 
three  years  ago,"  I  replied. 

It  is  curious  to  see  how  the  minds  of  some  people  work. 
They  see  no  beauty  or  value  in  anything  until  it  has 
passed  out  of  their  hands,  and  begins  to  show  its  good 
points  under  different  treatment.  This  two-acre  lot,  that 
was  always  a  quagmire  and  an  eye-sore  to  the  neighbor 
hood,  when  Jake  owned  it,  is  now  a  very  charming  spot, 
as  the  grass  turns  out  three  tuns  to  the  acre.  It  never 

O 

paid  him  the  interest  on  ten  dollars  an  acre.  It  pays  me 
ten  per  cent  on  three  hundred,  to  say  nothing  of  the  satis 
faction  of  turning  a  swamp  into  a  meadow. 

Seth  Twiggs  is  right  about  the  size  of  the  grass,  and  yet 


THE    TIM    BUXKER    PAPKRS.  175 

I  have  done  nothing  extra  for  it  this  year.     To  be  sure,  the 
season  has  been  more  moist,  but  that  hardly  accounts  for 
the  difference.     You  see,  in  draining  a  piece  of  wet  land 
two  or  more  feet  deep,  you  bring  a  large  quantity  of  sur 
face  soil  gradually  to  the  action  of  the  atmosphere,  and  of 
the  rains  and  frosts.     It  undergoes  a  curing  process,  and 
the  soil  improves,  year  by  year,  until  the  water  line   is 
reached.     This  is  the  third  crop  I  have  got  off  of  this  lot 
since  I  put   the  drain  down,  and  each  year  has  been  a 
marked  improvement  upon  the  last.     I  suppose  I  might 
cut  a  second  crop  if  the  lot  was  not  so  handy  for  pasturing. 
And  then  I  have  noticed  that  it  is  a  good  plan  to  feed 
and  mow  alternately.     I  much  prefer  to  mow  a  common 
meadow  one  year,  and  pasture  the  next,  than  to  mow 
straight  along  for  four  or  five  years,  as  most  farmers  do. 
If  a  meadow  is  very  rich,  like  this  drained  lot,  I  think  it 
does  better  to  feed  the  second  crop,  than  to  mow  it.     If  it 
produces  a  tun  and  a  half  at  the  second  growth,  as  I  think 
it  will,  of  course  so  much  is  returned  to  the  soil  in  the  ma 
nure  of  the  cattle.     And  then  I  have  another  important 
advantage  in  the  seeds  of  the  clover  that  are  scattered  by 
the  cattle.     I  have  noticed  that  the  second  growth  of 
clover  starts  immediately,  and  as  I  do  not  turn  in  until 
the  last  of  August,  many  of  the  plants,  both  of  the  white 
and  red,  go  to  seed,  and  are  scattered  before  the  cattle  eat 
them.     I  do  not  believe  in  feeding  late,  but  leave  time  for 
the  grass  to  make  a  good  covering  for  the  roots.     As  a 
result  of  this  treatment,  I  find  that  clover  does  not  die  out 
the  first  year,  as  is  usual.     I  have  a  good  deal  of  clover  in 
fields  sown  three  ye.irs  ago.     Other  grasses  are  benefited 
in  the  same  way,  and  the  sod  remains  thick  and  strong. 
I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  feet  of  the  cattle  acted 
like  a  roller,  pressing  the  seed  into  the  soil.     At  any  rate, 
the  fact  is  as  stated,  and  I  do  not  mow  any  second  crop, 
where  I  can  pasture  it.     I  don't  think  second  mowing  pays 
best. 


176  THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

"  Have  you  got  rid  of  'em  ?"  asked  Jake  Frink,  as  he 
looked  over  into  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass'  reclaimed 
bog. 

"  Rid  of  what  ?"  asked  Jotham,  with  feigned  astonish 
ment. 

"  Why,  them  pesky  muskrats,  that  used  to  eat  up  all 
the  outside  rows  of  corn  in 'your  field  and  mine." 

"  Haven't  seen  a  muskrat  in  these  parts  for  well-nigh 
two  year.  Have  seen  some  corn,  though,  and  occasionally 
a  potato !"  said  Jotham,  with  a  swing  of  his  cane  that 
showed  he  felt  as  if  he  was  lord  of  all  he  surveyed. 

He  dug  over  three  hundred  bushels  to  the  acre  there 
last  fall,  and  the  part  now  planted  to  that  crop  is  as  hand 
some  as  anything  I  have  seen  this  season.  Uncle  Jotham 
manages  pretty  well  for  an  old-style  farmer,  catching  at 
any  improvement  with  a  good  deal  of  eagerness,  but  stout 
ly  denying  that  it  is  new.  He  has  always  seen  something 
like  it  over  on  the  Island,  thirty  years  ago.  He  has  had, 
this  year,  in  about  equal  patches,  potatoes,  corn,  oats,  and 
clover,  upon  this  deserted  domain  of  frogs  and  muskrats. 
The  clover  was  quite  too  large  for  good  fodder,  or  would 
have  been,  if  he  had  let  it  grow  till  the  usual  time  of  cut 
ting.  But  it  was  cut  in  June,  a  thing  he  would  not  have 
thought  of,  three  years  ago,  and  he  will  have  at  least  two 
tuns  at  the  second  cutting,  if  he  does  not  steal  my  thunder, 
and  feed  it  off.  But  if  he  does  that,  he  will  be  sure  to 
state  positively  that  he  knew  Ben  Woodhull,  on  Long 
Island,  to  do  the  same  thing  as  long  ago  as  when  he  was 
a  boy. 

Coming  back  to  my  horse-pond  lot,  Mr.  Spooner  had  to 
ask,  "  What  makes  that  grass  so  much  heavier  on  the  back 
part  of  the  lot  ?  It  is  almost  another  story  high." 

"  Well,  you  see,  thereby  hangs  a  tale.  Last  year,  as 
soon  as  I  got  through  mowing  that  part  of  the  field,  say 
about  the  tenth  of  July,  I  spread  on  a  few  loads  of  com 
post  there,  and  you  can  see  just  where  it  stopped.  The 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  177 

compost  was  made  of  pig-pen  manure,  with  muck  rather 
fresh  dug.  I  had  a  good  deal  of  query  in  my  own  mind 
about  the  best  time  of  spreading  manure  on  mowing  land, 
and  had  pretty  serious  doubts  about  midsummer,  and 
feared  the  loss  of  ammonia,  etc.  This  don't  look  as  if  the 
manure  lost  much  of  its  strength.  The  rest  of  the  piece 
was  top-dressed  in  March,  and  it  is  not  near  as  heavy.  I 
am  not  prepared  to  say,  exactly,  that  I  think  midsummer 
is  the  best  time,  for  I  suppose  the  grass  has  not  got  all  the 
strength  of  the  manure  put  on  this  spring,  and  another  sea 
son,  or  the  after-feed  this  year,  may  make  the  case  look 
different.  I  have  no  doubt  the  manure  put  on  last  sum 
mer  acted  as  a  mulch,  sheltering  the  roots  of  the  herds- 
grass,  which  suffer  extremely,  and  are  often  killed  by  too 
close  cutting.  The  roots  got  strong  and  vigorous  during 
the  fall,  made  a  good  math  for  protection  during  the  win 
ter,  and  started  early  this  spring. 

As  advised  at  present,  I  should  put  manure  upon  any 
level  piece  of  land,  whenever  I  happened  to  have  it.  I 
think  it  will  pay  better  interest  on  the  meadow  than  in  the 
yard,  and  accordingly  I  shall  clean  up  this  month,  and 
spread  every  spare  load  I  have  upon  the  meadows.  Cut 
ting  a  tun  of  hay  to  the  acre  don't  liquidate,  when  you 
can  get  three,  just  as  easy,  with  more  manure.  Things 
are  looking  up,  notwithstanding  the  war.  Breastworks 
will  be  plenty. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Sept.  15th,  1861. 


178  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

NO.  53.— TIM    BUNKER    ON    PAINTING    BUILD 
INGS. 

COST  OF  PAINTING HINTS  ON  COLOR,  ETC. STONE  HOUSES 

NEW    ARGUMENT    FOR    SHADE   TREES. 


MR.  EDITOR  :  Cleanliness  is  said  to  be  next  to  godliness. 
It  certainly  looks  better  to  see  a  farmer's  house  and  barn 
all  nicely  painted,  and  it  makes  the  paying  of  the  bills 
rather  easier,  to  know  that  paint  is  the  cheapest  outside 
covering  for  all  wooden  buildings.  So  I  am  going  to 
paint  up,  this  fall,  notwithstanding  the  war.  I  rather 
guess  I  shall  have  something  left  to  pay  the  bills,  after 
the  war  taxes  are  paid.  It  is  only  five  years  ago  that  I 
painted  up  every  thing  I  had  upon  the  farm,  even  to  the 
ice  house,  and  the  pig  sty,  and  I  suppose  they  might  now 
stand  another  year  without  much  damage.  But  as  I  was 
coming  home  from  Shadtown  last  week,  Mrs.  Bunker  took 
occasion  to  remark  that  she  thought  the  gable  end  of  the 
house  looked  a  little  dingy  and  bare.  At  any  rate,  it  did 
not  look  so  well  as  Mr.  Slocum's  house,  and  she  thought  if 
a  poor  minister  could  afford  to  keep  the  parsonage  in  so 
neat  a  trim,  that  Timothy  Bunker  could  afford  a  new 
coat  of  paint. 

Now  I  half  expect  she  was  joking,  for  she  knew  well 
enough  that  I  had  paid  the  bills  for  painting  the  Shad- 
town  parsonage,  because  Josiah  and  Sally,  being  young 
folks,  had  enough  other  use  for  their  money.  I  didn't  say 
much,  but  I  rather  thought  to  myself,  "guess  Mrs.  Bun 
ker's  getting  jealous  of  her  daughter." 

But,  you  see,  she  is  not  going  to  have  any  occasion  to 
think  that  an  old  bride  is  not  just  as  good  as  a  young  one, 
though  it  is  her  own  daughter,  and  all  in  the  family. 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPERS.  179 

What  made  me  more  ready  for  painting  was  the  fact  that 
Jo  Dennis,  the  painter,  was  out  of  a  job,  complaining  of 
the  war,  hard  times,  and  nothing  to  do  in  his  line.  Now 
I  like  to  see  industrious  people  busy,  earning  money,  and 
so  I  set  Jo  at  work. 

I  find  I  learn  something  about  painting  every  time  I  do 
the  job.  It  requires  from  five  to  ten  per  cent  of  the  first 
cost  of  a  building  every  fifth  or  sixth  year  to  keep  it 
painted.  This  amounts  to  a  heavy  tax,  such  as  we  should 
think  oppressive  if  it  was  imposed  upon  us  by  the  Govern 
ment.  I  have  been  thinking  that  a  great  many  could 
save  this  expense  by  building  with  stone.  In  most  parts 
of  the  country  stones  are  plenty — granite,  sandstone, 
marble — that  split  easy,  and  are  of  handsome  color.  In 
many  places,  near  good  quarries,  it  would  not  cost  any 
more  to  build  of  stone  than  of  wood.  Barns,  and  out 
houses  especially,  might  be  made  of  stone,  wholly  or  in 
part,  to  great  advantage.  Deacon  Smith  built  a  stone 
barn,  ten  years  ago,  and  it  keeps  hay  just  as  well  as  his 
old  one,  and  has  some  advantages  over  wood.  He  claims 
that  it  is  a  great  deal  warmer  in  winter,  and  of  course  it 
takes  less  fodder  to  carry  his  cattle  through.  It  is  cooler 
in  summer,  and  more  comfortable  for  such  animals  as  he 
keeps  in  the  stable.  It  is  more  easily  made  rat-proof. 
The  walls  are  made  of  split  granite  laid  in  mortar,  and  will 
never  need  any  repair  or  paint  in  his  day,  or  in  that  of 
his  grandchildren.  The  first  cost  was  only  a  third  more 
than  wood,  and  he  thinks  the  interest  on  this  difference  is 
more  than  made  up  in  the  saving  of  fodder,  repairs,  and 
paint. 

We  have  a  few  stone  houses  in  Hookertown,  some  of 
them  the  natural  color  of  the  granite,  and  some  white 
washed,  and  they  are  the  warmest  and  most  comfortable 
houses  among  us.  If  I  were  going  to  build  again,  I  should 
certainly  use  stone,  for  both  house  and  barn. 

But  most  of  us  have  built  of  wood,  and  we  must  do 


ISO  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

the  best  we  can  with  the  houses  we  have.  There  is  one 
good  thing  about  it,  we  can  change  the  color  of  our  houses 
as  often  as  we  please,  and  come  out  in  a  new  fashion, 
while  the  stone  house  maintains  the  same  aspect.  "  What 
color  are  you  going  to  put  on  ?  "  asked  Seth  Twiggs,  as 
he  looked  over  the  gate,  and  mingled  the  smoke  of  his 
pipe  with  the  steam  of  the  boiling  oil. 

"  It  won't  be  blue,  I'll  warrant  you,"  snid  Jotham 
Sparrowgrass,  without  waiting  for  me  to  give  neighbor 
Twiggs  a  civil  reply. 

"  "Guess  it'll  be  horse  color,"  observed  Jake  Frink,  who 
still  remembers  the  cured  horse-pond,  and  thinks  every 
thing  I  do  must  have  a  shade  of  horse  in  it. 

When  I  was  a  boy,  it  wasn't  much  of  a  question  as  to 
what  color  a  man  would  paint  his  house.  I  don't  think 
there  were  a  dozen  houses  in  Hookertown  of  any  other 
color  than  white.  It  was  claimed  that  white  was  the 
natural  color  of  the  lead,  it  was  the  least  trouble  to  make, 
and  looked  best  in  the  country,  where  it  was  so  easy  to 
surround  the  house  with  trees  and  shrubs.  I  have  always 
noticed  in  journeying,  that  the  more  green  you  have 
around  a  white  house  the  better  it  looks.  In  the  last 
twenty  years  a  great  change  has  come  over  the  taste  of 
the  people,  and  somehow  they  seem  to  paint  other  colors 
a  good  deal  more  than  white — yellow,  drab,  light  brown, 
lilac,  and  gray.  This  may  be  owing  somewhat  to  an  im 
provement  in  taste,  but  I  guess  fashion  has  got  quite  as 
much  to  do  with  it.  A  man  paints  his  house  to  please  his 
neighbors  rather  than  himself,  and  if  brown  is  the  rage 
he  paints  brown.  I  am  saved  all  trouble  about  the  color, 
for  Mrs.  Bunker  likes  white  and  nothing  else,  so  white  it 
shall  be.  Our  trees  and  shrubs  have  got  so  well  grown, 
that  white  makes  an  agreeable  contrast,  and  then  it  has 
always  been  white,  and  some  of  my  friends  might  not 
know  the  house  if  it  was  any  other  color.  The  artists 
and  architects  make  a  good  deal  of  fuss  about  blinds  upon 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  181 

the  outside,  and  the  green  color.  But  there  is  no  sub 
stitute  for  a  green  Venetian  blind  upon  the  outside.  It 
bars  the  heat,  and  lets  in  the  breeze  in  summer,  and  is 
always  agreeable  to  the  eye.  Houses  are  built  for  com 
fort  rather  than  for  show,  and  I  think  comfort  should  be 
studied  more  than  anything  else.  If  we  can  make  taste 
go  along  with  it,  that  is  so  much  clear  gain. 

It  makes  a  good  deal  of  difference  about  the  season  of 
painting.  In  the  heat  of  summer,  the  oil  seems  to  strike 
all  into  the  wood,  and  the  lead  washes  off  sooner.  If  I 
could  have  my  choice  of  weather,  I  would  select  the  clear 
days  of  spring  or  fall,  with  a  north-west  breeze,  if  any. 
Then,  with  good  materials,  the  paint  dries  gradually, 
makes  a  good  body,  and  will  be  a  good  deal  more  durable. 

There  is  one  thing  I  have  just  learned  about  painting, 
and  it  must  be  as  true  as  preaching.  Paint  upon  a  build 
ing  well  sheltered  by^  trees  will  last  twice  as  long  as  paint 
in  an  exposed  position.  The  gable  end  of  the  house,  to 
which  Mrs.  Bunker  called  my  attention,  is  almost  bare, 
while  the  lower  part  has  still  a  fair  coat  of  paint.  The 
reason  is,  that  the  upper  part  of  the  house  is  fully  exposed 
to  the  raking  winds,  while  the  lower  part  is  partially 
protected  by  the  barn  and  the  shrubbery.  On  the  west 
side  of  the  house  is  a  covered  piazza.  The  paint  sheltered 
by  this  is  almost  as  good  as  when  it  was  first  put  on,  five 
years  ago.  In  violent  storms  the  wind  moves  from  forty 
to  sixty  miles  an  hour,  and  the  rain  is  driven  with  this 
velocity  against  the  sides  of  the  house.  Of  course,  there 
must  be  a  good  deal  of  mechanical  violence  done  by  this 
continual  battering  of  the  rain  drops.  A  friend,  who  has 
three  sides  of  his  house  sheltered  by  trees,  is  of  the  opinion 
that  a  coat  of  paint  will  last  twice  as  long  as  upon  the 
fourth  side,  which  is  without  any  protection.  Trees  break 
off  the  winds,  and  are  of  as  great  advantage  in  preserving 
a  house  as  they  are  in  warming  it  in  winter.  They 
should  not  stand  too  near  a  dwelling,  so  as  to  make  it  damp 


182  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPEES. 

and  unhealthy,  but  at  a  distance  of  thirty  feet  or  more, 
they  are  a  great  comfort  and  ornament.  In  saving  both 
paint  and  firewood,  the  evergreens  have  a  great  advantage 
over  the  deciduous  trees.  Their  foliage  is  so  thick  and 
fine  that  they  break  the  force  of  the  wind  more  complete 
ly,  and  sift  out  the  cold. 

This  will  be  a  new  argument  for  planting  trees  around 
farm  buildings,  and  one  of  the  strongest  that  can  be 
brought  forward.  A  man  will  save  enough  in  paint  in 
five  years  to  pay  for  his  trees  and  the  cost  of  planting 
them. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooJcertown,  Oct.  10th,  1861. 


NO.  54.— TIM     BUNKER    ON    THE    VALUE    OF 
MUCK. 


"  Hain't  you  got  most  tired  on't,  Squire  ?"  asked  Ben 
Jones,  as  I  carted  along  my  twentieth  load  of  muck  last 
night. 

"  Guess  not.     Why  ?  "  I  replied. 

"It's  a  mighty  deal  of  hard  work  for  nothing.  I'd  just 
as  leeves  have  so  many  loads  of  snow  banks  in  a  barn 
yard." 

"  It's  all  moonshine  about  there's  bein'  any  vartu  in 
muck.  I'd  jest  as  soon  dung  a  field  with  icicles,"  chimed 
in  George  Washington  Tucker,  who  gets  his  ideas  and  his 
drinks  from  Jones. 

"  Them's  my  sentiments  exactly,"  said  Jake  Frink,  as 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  183 

he  met  us  in  the  road  with  a  load  of  oats  in  bags,  going 
do\vn  to  Shad  town  to  market.  "You  see  I  was  over- 
!  one  year,  when  tin*  Squire  bo't  the  hoss-pond 
lot,  to  try  some  of  the  mud  that  come  out  of  the  side  of 
the  roa  i,  where  the  pond  used  to  be.  I  guess  I  carted  a 
dozen  load,  and  thought  I  was  going  to  see  corn  sta'ks  as 
big  as  your  wrist,  and  ears  as  long  as  a  hoe-handle.  And 
I  du  declare  I  never  could  see  a  bit  a  difference  where  I 
used  it." 

"  How  much  manure  did  you  put  on  to  the  acre  ?  "  in 
quired  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  drew  a  lucifer  across  the  tap  oi 
his  boot,  and  lighted  his  inevitable  pipe. 

"  Wall,  I  made  a  whoppin  sight  that  year,  and  slapped 
her  on  ten  loads  to  the  acre." 

"  Corn  must  'av  been  skeer'd  at  such  duin's,  I  guess," 
said  Seth,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  that  the  smoke  could 
not  hide. 

"Corn  didn't  come  up  well,  did  it?"  asked  Seth,  pur 
suing  his  catechising. 

"  Wall,  yes,  it  came  up,  but  looked  mighty  yaller,  and 
didn't  begin  to  grow  much  till  into  June,  and  then  it  was 
spm<llin,  and  a  great  many  stalks  didn't  have  any  years 
on  'em.  It  was  that  cold  frog  mud  that  pizened  the  sile." 

"How  much  corn  du  you  git  to  the  acre,  take  it  by  and 
large,  Mr.  Frink  ?"  asked  Seth  civilly. 

"  I  guess  about  twenty  bushels,  on  an  average,  some 
times  a  leetle  more — and  sometimes  less." 

"  And  how  much  manure  do  you  put  on  to  the  acre  ?" 
continued  Seth,  determined  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  the 
matter. 

"  Wall,  that  is  jest  as  it  happens.  I  allers  put  on  all  I 
make,  be  it  more  or  less,  p'raps  fifty  or  sixty  loads  on  to 
eight  or  nine  acres  of  plantin.  It's  real  dung,  though, 
and  none  of  your  bog  moss  and  stuif." 

"And  how  do  you  suppose  Squire  Bunker  gits  eighty 
bushels  of  corn  to  the  acre  ?" 


184  THE    TIM    BUNKER    P'APERS. 

"  Wall,  his  land  allers  was  better  than  mine;  and  then 
he  has  more  cattle  to  make  more  manure,  and  he  buys  lots 
of  guanner  and  bone  dust,  and  all  the  ashes  folks  makes  in 
the  village,  and  sets  every  boy  that's  big  enough  to  run 
on  tew  legs  to  pickin  up  bones,  and  buys  every  ded  hoss 
and  rotten  sheep,  and  murdered  cat,  shoemaker's  parin's, 
old  boots,  ded  hens,  old  rags,  and  feathers,  sticks  'em  into 
this  muck,  and  makes  manure.  If  a  man  has  money  'nuff 
to  buy  carrion,  he  can  make  manure  and  make  crops,  but 
ye  see  it  costs  more  than  it  comes  to.  And  then,  who 
wants  to  be  runnin  an  opposition  line  to  the  crows  !  The 
Squire  is  great  on  ded  bosses,  depend  on't.  The  crows 
haven't  had  a  decent  meal  of  vittles  the  last  five  years, 
the  Squire's  been  so  spry  after  every  ded  critter." 

Jake  Frink  touched  up  his  nag  and  disappeared  rather 
suddenly  after  this  display  of  his  philosophy  of  big  crops. 
There  was,  of  course,  some  foundation  in  truth  for  his 
reflection  upon  my  methods  of  making  manure.  But 
neighbor  Frink  displayed  his  own  pride,  as  well  as  my 
humiliation,  in  his  remarks.  One  would  hardly  think  it, 
but  Jake  Frink  is  really  above  his  business,  and  is  asham 
ed  to  do  what  ought  to  be  done,  to  make  the  most  of  the 
materials  within  his  reach  to  enrich  his  stores  of  manure. 
You  see,  this  digging  mud  is  nasty  business.  You  must 
soil  your  boots,  and  your  shirt  sleeves,  and  a  splash  of 
mud  upon  your  shirt  bosom  is  not  uncommon.  And  the 
handling  of  dead  horses  and  other  diseased  animals  is  not 
particularly  savory.  But  then  if  a  man  is  going  to  be  a 
farmer,  he  musn't  faint  at  the  sight  of  such  things,  or  carry 
a  smelling  bottle  to  keep  down  the  stenches.  Muck  makes 
clean  corn,  yellow  as  gold,  and  the  sweetest  of  meal,  and 
all  offal  and  putrid  flesh  in  the  laboratory  of  the  soil  is 
turned  into  luxuriant  grass,  which  makes  nice  milk,  cheese, 
and  butter,  and  a  plenty  of  it.  Being  a  farmer,  and 
"  nothing  else,"  as  the  boys  say,  I  go  in  for  muck  and 
more  of  it  every  year. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  185 

You  gentlemen  that  edit  agricultural  papers,  attend  the 
fairs,  and  see  almost  nobody  but  the  best  farmers,  who 
carry  out  your  teachings,  think  the  world  is  almost  con 
verted  to  your  faith.  You  have  been  preaching  about 
muck  for  a  dozen  years  or  more,  and  you  may  think  that 
every  body  understands  it,  and  every  body  uses  it  as 
much  as  they  ought  to.  You  never  made  a  greater  mistake 
in  the  world.  I  tell  you  the  millenium  hasn't  come  yet,  by 
a  long  shot.  I  guess  one-half  the  farmers  in  these  parts 
to-day  have  got  Jake  Frink's  notion  about  muck,  and  it 
rests  upon  just  his  sort  of  trial — a  single  experiment  based 
on  an  application  of  ten  loads  of  half-made  compost  to 
the  acre.  No  wonder  that  muck  is  considered  poor  stuif. 

Now  I  am  ready  to  give  a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in 
me.  On  my  old  land  I  can  not  make  any  money  at  farm 
ing  without  manure,  and  carting  muck  is  the  cheapest 
way  I  can  make  it.  Indeed,  I  should  not  know  what  to 
do  without  swamp  muck.  Manure,  as  it  is  sold  in  towns 
and  villages  in  the  Northern  States,  brings  from  two  to 
three  dollars  a  cord  of  103  bushels.  As  it  brings  this 
price  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  it  is  worth  this  to  the  cul 
tivators  who  buy  it.  These  are  generally  market  garden 
ers  and  farmers,  who  live  within  four  or  five  miles  of 
market.  If  manure  is  worth  this  to  the  farmer  who  has 
to  cart  it  several  miles,  it  is  certainly  worth  as  much,  or 
more,  to  the  farmer  who  makes  it  and  uses  it  upon  his 
own  farm. 

Now  I  claim  for  the  muck  and  peat  that  I  use,  that  I 
make  a  dollar  upon  every  cord  that  passes  through  my 
yard  and  stables  on  its  way  to  the  plowed  fields  where  it 
is  turned  under — reckoning  its  value  at  the  lowest  market 
price,  two  dollars  a  cord.  The  peat  as  it  lies  in  the  bed, 
yielding  no  income,  is  entirely  worthless.  It  can  be  dug 
and  thrown  upon  the  bank  of  the  ditch  for  twenty-five 
cents  a  cord.  If  it  can  lie  a  year,  all  the  better,  but  this 
is  not  essential,  as  fresh  stable  manure  will  cure  it  without 


186  THE    TIM    BUNKEli   PAPEKS. 

frost.  It  can  be  delivered  in  my  yard  for  fifty  cents  a 
cord,  but  it  would  cost  those  who  have  to  cart  it  half  a  mile 
or  more,  perhaps  seventy-five  cents  a  cord,  making  a  dollar. 
Dry  muck,  in  the  process  of  mixing  and  curing  during 
the  winter,  would  be  certain  to  lose  neither  in  weight  nor 
volume.  In  the  spring  it  is  worth  two  dollars  a  cord  as 
it  lies  in  the  yard.  In  making  compost  I  calculate  to  use 
about  three  loads  of  muck  to  one  of  stable  manure.  If  I 
have  animals  enough  to  make  a  hundred  cords  with 
nothing  but  straw,  I  can  make  four  hundred  with  muck. 

On  the  muck  that  I  am  able  to  cure  in  the  fields  where 
I  use  it,  I  make  a  still  larger  profit,  as  I  save  one  carting. 
This  I  cure  with  stable  manure  that  I  buy  from  the  village, 
and  with  fish,  dead  animals,  guano,  or  with  lime  and  ashes, 
taking  care  not  to  use  these  latter  articles  with  the  animal 
manures.  If  any  body  doubts  about  my  estimate  of 
muck  let  him  come  to  Hookertown  and  see  my  corn  bin 
and  porkers,  my  root  cellar  and  cows,  and  my  hay  mows 
and  horse  stables.  Jake  Frink  despises  a  dead  horse  and 
invokes  crows.  I  think  the  carcass  worth  a  "  V,"  and 
save  it.  There  is  as  much  difference  in  folks  as  in  any  thing. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEK,  ESQ. 

Jloolcertown,  Jan.  1UA,  1862. 


NO.    55.— TIM    BUNKER    ON    FAMILY    HORSES. 


"  In  faith,  she's  dead  as  a  herring,  sir,"  said  Patrick,  as 
he  came  from  milking,  yesterday. 

"Poor  old  crature,  is  she  gone  indade?"  asked  Bridget, 
the  maid,  as  she  lifted  the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  wiped 
genuine  tears  from  her  eyes. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  187 

This  was  sad  news,  though  I  had  been  expecting  it  for 
several  mornings,  and  not  a  very  good  preparation  for 
breakfast,  which  was  already  upon  the  table.  I  saw  it 
was  all  over  with  the  old  mare,  the  mother  of  John's 
Black  Hawk  colts,  and  the  faithful  family  beast  of  twenty- 
five  years  standing.  She  had  been  ailing  for  a  fortnight, 
a  little  stiff  in  the  joints  at  first,  but  nothing  alarming 
considering  her  years.  She  had  been  serviceable  up  to 
that  time,  and  though  neither  so  strong  nor  so  swift  as  in 
her  younger  years,  was  just  as  good  for  my  purposes  as  a 
dozen  years  ago.  When  she  began  to  refuse  food,  I  re 
sorted  to  the  usual  remedies,  but  soon  saw  that  it  was  of 
no  use.  She  died  in  her  stall,  on  the  fourth  day  after 
refusing  food,  full  of  years  and  full  of  honors.  I  own 
that  I  set  more  store  by  her  than  anything  else  that  goes 
upon  four  legs.  I  had  raised  her,  and  ridden  behind  her 
to  mill  and  to  meeting  for  over  twenty  years.  Her  dis 
position  was  a  great  deal  more  human  than  that  of  the 
common  run  of  mankind.  She  knew  her  place  and  her 
business  better.  She  was  so  completely  under  the  control 
of  my  voice  that  I  never  had  occasion  to  strike  her  a 
blow.  John  lived  upon  her  back  almost,  when  he  was  a 
boy,  and  the  women  could  drive  her  anywhere.  She  was 
the  first  horse  John  and  Sally  ever  learned  to  drive,  and 
she  was  associated  in  my  mind  with  their  childhood.  It 
will  go  hard  with  John  when  he  hears  the  news,  down  on 
the  Potomac,  for  old  Rose  was  the  companion  of  all  his 
boyish  pleasures,  until  he  was  big  enough  to  break  colts. 
There  is  not  a  fish  pond,  or  a  trout  stream,  within  a  dozen 
miles  of  home,  whither  she  has  not  carried  him.  He  can 
hardly  think  of  a  pleasant  spot,  or  a  happy  day  in  his 
childhood,  a  'berrying  with  his  schoolmates,  or  a  'visiting 
with  his  cousins,  without  recalling  the  nimble  feet  of  old 
Rose. 

It   so   happened   that   Sally   and  her  husband  were  at 
home  on  a  little  visit  yesterday,  and  it  seemed  to  lighten 


188  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

the  load  a  little,  that  we  had  children  and  children's 
children  in  the  house,  when  there  was  so  dark  a  shadow 
upon  the  barn.  But  it  was  rather  a  sad  breakfast,  even 
with  these  alleviations. 

"  She  was  just  Sally's  age,  and — "  remarked  Mrs.  Bun 
ker,  as  she  passed  my  cup  of  coffee,  without  being  able  to 
finish  the  sentence. 

"  What's  the  matter,  grandma,"  asked  little  Timothy, 
who  did  not  exactly  understand  the  trembling  lip,  and 
the  tears  that  the  spectacles  did  not  hide. 

"  One  of  the  earliest  things  I  can  remember,"  said  Sally, 
"  was  a  ride  to  mill,  after  old  Rose,  with  you,  father,  and 
John.  I  couldn't  have  been  more  than  four  years  old. 
I  know  John  got  to  sleep  before  we  got  home,  and  you 
left  him  under  the  shed  to  take  his  nap  out.  You  must 
not  laugh  at  us,  Josiah,"  directing  her  remarks,  by  way 
of  apology,  to  her  husband,  "  for  our  tears  for  old  Rose. 
She  was  the  mother  of  our  Charley,  you  know." 

"  A  very  remarkable  beast,  I  have  no  doubt,  from  the 
impression  she  seems  to  have  made  upon  those  who  knew 
her  best,"  said  Mr.  Slocum,  trying  to  enter  into  his  wife's 
sympathies.  "  I  have  always  thought  horses  approached 
nearer  to  man  than  any  other  domestic  animal.  The  name 
of  the  horse  recalls  little  Rose,  in  the  Shady  Side,  who 
seems  to  have  been  as  much  nfflicted  at  the  sale  of  her 
father's  horse,  Pompey,  as  you  are  at  the  death  of  the 
family  mare." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Sally,  "  I  remember  the  passage,  and  it 
is  one  of  the  best  in  the  book,  where  Mr.  Vernon,  the 
clergymen,  had  to  sell  his  favorite  horse  out  of  sheer 
poverty. — '  The  children  got  bravely  through  the  dinner ; 
but  afterwards,  seeing  her  father  look  sadly  out  toward  the 
empty  stable,  little  Rose  climbed  his  knee,  and  whispered, 
'  Never  mind,  dear  papa,  we  shall  see  Pompey  again — in 
heaven,'  she  was  about  to  say, — but  suddenly  recollecting, 
she  added,  'Oh,  no  !  he  has  no  soul,  has  he?  poor  dear 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  189 

Pompey !'  and  the  tears  rained  fast  through  her  chubby 
fingers,  with  which  she  tried  to  hide  them  from  papa.'" 

"  I  do  not  altogether  sympathize  with  the  theology  that 
takes  it  for  granted  that  there  is  no  hereafter  for  brutes," 
said  Mr.  Slocum. 

"I  should  like  to  think  so,"  said  Sally,  "now  that  old 
Rose  is  dead,  but  I  can  not  see  what  place  there  is  for 
animals  in  a  spiritual  world." 

"  I  believe  the  Bible  has  not  much  to  say  on  that  point," 
said  Mrs.  Bunker  hopefully. 

"  Very  true,"  said  Mr.  Slocum ;  "  and  it  is  worthy  of 
notice,  that  the  most  pointed  thing  it  does  say  against 
their  immortality,  Solomon  puts  into  the  mouth  of  an  in 
fidel  arguing  that  'man  hath  no  preeminence  above  a 
beast,  for  all  is  vanity.'  They  fill  their  places  so  much 
better  than  multitudes  of  men,  and  seem  to  answer  the 
Divine  purpose  in  their  creation  so  much  better,  that  it 
seems  very  sad  to  think  there  is  no  hereafter  for  them." 

"It  is  almost  as  sad  to  think  that  some  men  can  never 
die,"  Sally  replied  very  soberly.  "  Still  I  think  we  shall 
have  to  give  up  old  Rose  and  all  our  dumb  pets,  when  we 
become  like  the  angels.  You  remember,  Josiah,  that  pas 
sage  in  one  of  the  '  Essays  of  a  Country  Parson '  where 
the  writer  represents  himself  to  be  seated  upon  a  manger, 
writing  upon  the  flat  place  between  his  horse's  eyes,  while 
the  docile  animal's  nose  is  between  his  knees.  The  book 
is  here  upon  mother's  table,  I  will  read  it : 

*  For  you,  my  poor  fellow  creature,  I  think  with  sorrow 
as  I  write  here  upon  your  head,  there  remains  no  such  im 
mortality,  as  remains  for  me.  What  a  difference  between 
us !  You  to  your  sixteen  and  eighteen  years  here,  and 
then  oblivion !  I  to  my  three  score  and  ten,  and  then 
eternity !  Yes,  the  difference  is  immense ;  and  it  touches 
me  to  think  of  your  life  and  mine,  of  your  doom  and  mine. 
I  know  a  house  where  at  morning  and  evening  prayer, 
when  the  household  assembles,  among  the  servants  there 


190  THE   TIM    BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

always  walks  in  a  shaggy  little  dog,  who  listens  with  the 
deepest  attention,  and  the  most  solemn  gravity,  to  all  that  is 
said,  and  then  when  prayers  are  over,  goes  out  again  with 
his  friends.  I  can  not  witness  that  silent  procedure,  with 
out  being  much  moved  by  the  sight.  Ah !  my  fellow 
creature,  this  is  something  in  which  you  have  no  part! 
Made  by  the  same  hand,  breathing  the  same  air,  and  sus 
tained  like  us  by  food  and  drink,  you  are  witnessing  an 
act  of  ours  which  relates  to  interests  that  do  not  concern 
you,  and  of  which  you  have  no  idea.  And  so  here  we 
are,  you  standing  at  the  manger,  old  boy,  and  I  sitting 
upon  it ;  the  mortal  and  the  immortal  close  together ; 
your  nose  on  my  knee,  my  paper  on  your  head ;  yet  with 
something  between  us,  broader  than  the  broad  Atlantic.' " 

"  That  is  charmingly  expressed,  my  dear,"  said  Josiah, 
"  and  it  satisfies  the  reason  very  well,  but  still  the  heart 
pleads  for  its  accustomed  companionship  in  a  better  life. 
It  is  a  point  not  definitely  settled  by  revelation,  and  as 
the  belief  tends  to  make  men  humane  in  their  treatment 
of  animals,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  there  may  be  an 
other  life  for  them." 

Sally  and  Josiah  had  a  good  deal  of  discussion  in  this 
vein,  all  very  well  in  its  pl&ce,  but  I  could  not  take  any 
part  in  it.  Sally,  I  guess,  had  the  best  of  the  argument, 
but  that  did  not  make  me  feel  the  loss  of  old  Rose  any  the 
less.  The  tears  from  under  the  old  spectacles  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table  were  a  little  too  much  for  me,  and  I  had 
to  keep  silence,  or  join  the  company  of  mourners  outside. 
Twenty-five  years,  you  know,  make  a  great  hole  in  the 
life  of  man,  and  when  we  are  touchingly  reminded  that 
they  have  gone,  even  though  it  be  by  the  death  of  a  brute, 
it  is  very  natural  to  think  of  the  end.  These  domestic 
animals,  especially  the  most  intelligent  of  them  all,  the 
horse,  have  much  to  do  with  our  moral  training.  The  af 
fection  for  them,  which  seems  almost  as  natural  and  as 
strong  as  for  our  own  species,  tends  to  repress  cruelty, 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPEKS.  19J 

and  the  abuse  of  the  power  we  have  over  them.  The 
civil  law  properly  recognizes  cruelty  to  brutes  as  a  moral 
offence.  Their  kindly  treatment  is  a  virtue  that  makes 
better  citizens,  and  honors  the  State. — As  old  Rose  was 
so  near  to  the  family,  we  honored  her  with  a  decent  burial. 
She  lies  under  an  old  oak  in  the  pasture  where  she  used 
to  graze.  Peace  to  her  ashes. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  Mar.  15,  1862. 


NO.  56.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  THE  "HORN-AIL." 


"  What  is  the  matter  with  your  cow,  Mr.  Frink  ?"  said 
Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  barn-yard 
bars,  and  looked  benevolently  at  a  very  spare  and  hirsute 
animal,  that  Jake  was  milking. 

"  Can't  tell  exactly,"  said  Jake.  "  Guess  she's  got  the 
horn-ail,  or  some  sich  thing." 

"  I  thought  the  trouble  seemed  to  be  in  her  legs,  when 
she  come  by  my  house  last  night.  She  walked  kind  o' 
totlish,"  said  Seth,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"  Wall,  that  might  be.  Horn  distemper  generally  af 
fects  'em  all  over.  Had  Tucker  up  here  to  doctor  her 
last  night ;  he  said  it  was  horn-ail." 

"What  did  he  give  her?" 

"  He  gin  her  a  slice  of  salt-pork,  split  her  tail,  put  in 
Bait  and  pepper,  and  bored  her  horns." 

"  Rather  guess  there  was  some  squirming." 

"  Yes,  it  took  three  men  and  all  the  ropes  in  the  barn  to 
hold  the  old  keow." 


192  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

• 

"  Don't  you  think  horn-ail  hurts  the  milk  ?  "  inquired 
Seth  hesitatingly,  as  he  relighted  his  pipe. 

"  Wall,  as  to  that,  I  can't  say.  It's  all  the  keow  we've 
got,  as  gives  rnilk,  and  I  shouldn't  think  any  trouble  in  the 
horns  would  strike  clean  threw  the  beast.  Milk  is  milk, 
I  take  it,  no  matter  where  it  comes  from.  I  never  could 
see  any  difference  in  the  taste." 

"  I  rather  guess  milk  wont  be  milk  out  of  that  animal 
much  longer,"  said  Seth  ominously,  and  blowing  a  puff 
of  smoke  as  blue  as  his  prophecy. 

"  You  don't  think  she's  going  to  die,  do  you  ?  "  asked 
Jake  solemnly. 

"  The  crows  have  already  held  a  counsel  on  that  animal. 
Tucker  told  me  so  last  night." 

"  The  scoundrel !  He  told  me  he  would  warrant  her  to 
get  well,  if  I'd  give  him  a  dollar  for  his  doctoring." 

Two  days  after  the  above  conversation  I  was  called  in 
to  administer  upon  the  carcass  of  said  animal.  Jake  said 
he  had  human  feelings,  and  he  could  not  skin  a  cow  he 
had  milked,  and  he  did  not  even  want  to  put  her  in  a 
muck  heap.  I  gave  my  neighbor  due  credit  for  the  feel 
ings  of  tenderness  which  the  death  of  his  cow  seemed  to 
call  forth.  But  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  a  little 
more  of  that  tenderness  manifested  to  the  animal  while 
living  would  have  been  much  more  wisely  bestowed. 

To  tell  the  plain  truth,  the  animal  died  of  starvation, 
just  as  many  cows  die  every  year  in  this  land  of  steady 
habits  and  Christian  civilization.  I  noticed  the  cow  last 
summer,  and  told  Jake  he  would  certainly  lose  her  if  he 
did  not  give  her  a  better  pasture.  But  he  would  keep 
her  with  his  young  cattle  in  the  old  cow-pasture  that  has 
been  grazed  to  my  certain  knowledge  for  fifty  years,  and 
probably  for  a  hundred,  without  plowing  or  manuring 
except  the  droppings  of  the  pastured  animals,  and  these 
were  yarded  at  night.  He  kept  six  animals  where  there 
was  not  grass  enough  for  three.  They  came  out  of  the 


THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  193 

winter  poor  and  tbin,  and  this  cow  having  the  drain  of 
milk  upon  her  system  grew  thinner  through  the  summer. 
The  winter  diet  of  corn  buts,  bog  meadow  grass,  and  salt 
marsh  hay,  cut  short  the  work  of  starvation,  and  fulfilled 
Tucker's  prophecy. 

They  have  a  great  variety  of  names  for  this  process  of 
torture  in  Connecticut,  and  I  suppose  in  other  parts  of 
the  country.  Sometimes  it  is  horn-ail,  or  worm  in  the 
tail ;  again  it  is  slink  fever,  or  murrain,  black  leg,  or  black 
tongue,  cattle  disease,  or  pleuro  pneumonia.  It  would  not 
do  for  an  intelligent,  civilized  man  to  see  and  believe  that 
he  starved  his  cattle  to  death.  Conscience  might  trouble 
him,  and  possibly  some  of  his  neighbors  might  have  him 
before  the  courts  under  the  statute  which  prohibits  cruelty 
to  brutes.  If  I  were  called  to  judge  in  such  a  case  it 
would  certainly  go  hard  with  the  offender.  It  certainly 
inflicts  more  pain  upon  a  brute  to  starve,  than  to  beat  it. 
The  whip  upon  ribs  well  lined  with  fat  is  a  sharp  torture 
soon  over.  But  to  keep  a  cow  at  the  stack-yard  through 
the  cold,  stormy  nights  of  winter,  to  give  her  poor  food, 
and  not  half  enough  of  that,  is  a  lingering  torment,  more 
cruel  than  that  which  the  savage  inflicts  upon  his  victim 
bound  to  the  stake.  The  poor  beast  can  only  speak 
through  the  hollow  ribs  and  the  bristling  hair,  and  these 
signs  of  woe  are  usually  attributed  to  disease  rather  than 
to  a  lean  manger. 

This  is  an  evil  that  legislation  will  not  reach,  and  I  sup 
pose  nothing  but  public  opinion  will  set  it  right,  and  that 
probably  not  in  our  day.  It  would  seem  that  there  was 
no  need  of  losing  neat  stock  under  ordinary  circumstances. 
I  have  kept  cows  for  over  forty  years,  and  they  have  all 
died  by  the  knife,  proving  as  useful  and  ornamental  in 
their  deaths  as  in  their  lives.  The  starving  of  animals  is 
so  unprofitable  that  there  is  no  apology  for  it.  A  half- 
starved  cow  hardly  pays  for  her  keeping.  A  well-fed  one 
pays  a  handsome  profit. 


194  THE   TIM   BUNKER  PAPEES. 

My  recipe  for  the  horn-ail  is,  one  good  warm  stable  well 
ventilated  and  well  littered,  one  bushel  of  carrots  or  sugar 
beets  daily,  hay  and  water  ad  libitum,  one  card  or  curry 
comb,  and  gentle  treatment.  I  have  never  known  this 
dose  to  fail  of  preventing  the  disease. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 
HooJcertown,  April  10th,  1862. 


.  57.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  A   "COMMENTARY" 
ON  ROOTS. 


"  I  should  like  to  know  what  upon  airth  you  dew  to 
your  cattle  to  make  'em  look  so  slick  ?  "  said  Jake  Frink 
as  he  looked  into  my  yard  on  a  bright  April  morning. 

"  Dew  to  'em,  you  fool,"  exclaimed  Tucker,  "  he  stuffs 
'em  with  ile  meal  and  corn,  just  as  you  would  a  sassage." 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  I  don't  have  the  bills  to  pay,"  said 
Jones.  "  That  animal  has  cost  fifty  dollars  this  winter, 
I'll  bet  a  shad ;  and  'twouldn't  sell  for  that  neow."  "  Don't 
be  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  joined  the 
company  at  the  gate,  and  looked  admiringly  at  Cherry, 
who  had  dropped  her  third  calf  a  few  days  before.  "  I 
am  in  want  of  a  new  milch  cow,  and  will  take  her  at  that 
price  without  the  calf." 

"  You  will  have  to  add  ten  more  to  get  her,  I  guess, 
even  if  I  want  to  s"ll,"  I  remarked  very  quietly,  as  I 
showed  a  pail  half  full  of  milk  after  the  calf  had  taken 
all  he  wanted  to  suck.  "But  you  see  I  never  sell  a  new 
milch  cow.  Making  butter  and  cheese  is  my  business, 
and  milk  is  my  stock  in  trade.  A  shoemaker  might  as 
well  sell  his  leather,  or  a  tanner  his  hides,  as  a  farmer 


THE    TIM    BUNKEE,   PAPERS.  195 

sell  a  new  milch  cow.  The  dairy  farmer,  who  has  his  eye 
teeth  cut,  will  sell  cows  only  when  they  are  well  fattened, 
or  at  the  close  of  the  milking  season." 

"  But  s'pose  he  has  mor'n  he  wants,"  said  Seth  inquir 
ingly  as  he  loaded  his  pipe. 

"  He  has  no  business  to  be  in  that  fix,"  I  replied.  He 
raises  a  given  quantity  of  hay,  and  rough  fodder,  corn 
stalks,  straw,  pumpkins,  roots,  etc.,  and  he  ought  to  know 
just  how  much  it  will  take  to  bring  them  out  in  good  con 
dition  in  the  spring.  If  he  has  only  fodder  enough  for 
twenty  head  of  cattle,  he  makes  a  great  mistake  if  he  keeps 
twenty-one,  and  is  foolish  if  he  attempts  to  keep  five  and 
twenty.  With  food  enough,  he  will  make  a  profit  on  each ; 
with  too  little,  he  will  lose  on  every  one." 

" '  Lose  every  one?  you  ought  to  have  said,"  interposed 
Seth,  with  a  knowing  wink  at  Jake  Frink  for  his  recent 
experience  with  the  horn-ail. 

"  Cherry,"  I  continued,  "  is  what  I  call  a  living  commen 
tary  on  roots.  Mr.  Spooner  has  a  good  deal  to  say  about 
the  opinions  of  different  commentators  on  this  and  that 
text  from  which  he  preaches.  I  always  thought  that  the 
best  commentary  on  a  man's  faith,  was  his  practice.  His 
life  shows  well  enough  what  sort  of  food  his  mind  lives 
on,  and  it  is  pretty  much  so  with  fodder.  There's  a  good 
deal  of  truth  in  the  old  adage  '  The  proof  of  the  pudding 
is  in  the  eating.'  The  kind  of  pudding  my  Cherry  has 
lived  on  all  winter  is.  turnips,  sugar  beets,  and  good  hay. 
Not  an  ounce  of  meal,  upon  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  and 
she  gave  milk  until  within  two  months  of  her  calving. 
You  see,  now,  she  is  as  sleek  as  a  mole,  with  a  bag  as  big 
as  a  milk  pail,  and  a  fine  calf." 

I  put  the  case  to  my  neighbors,  Mr.  Editor,  in  that  way, 
and  made  them  see  it.  I  know  a  good  many  farmers  say 
roots  don't  pay  for  raising,  that  they  are  all  water  when 
not  frozen ;  and  if  they  are  frozen,  you  might  as  well  feed 
your  cattle  on  snow  banks.  I  know  that  the  chemists  say 


193  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

that  they  are  more  than  three-fourths  water,  and  not  worth 
half  as  much  as  hay,  which  may  be  true  enough.  But 
what  do  I  care  for  these  opinions,  so  long  as  roots  make 
flesh  and  milk  cheaper  than  any  thing  else  I  can  raise  ?  I 
am  after  milk  and  flesh  by  the  cheapest  method,  and  if 
giving  water  to  the  stock  will  bring  them,  I  shall  give 
them  water,  Jake  Frink  and  Mr.  Retort  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding. 

White  turnips  stand  particularly  low  in  the  scale  of 
nourishment,  and  yet  Cherry  had  white  turnips,  a  half 
bushel  a  day,  until  they  were  all  gone,  and  gained  flesh 
upon  them.  She  did  better  on  sugar  beets ;  and  for  that 
reason,  I  think  they  are  worth  more,  and  if  they  could  be 
raised  as  cheaply  as  turnips,  I  should  prefer  to  raise  them. 
But  I  do  not  see  how  they  can  be.  I  can  raise  turnips 
among  corn,  as  a  stolen  crop,  for  four  cents  a  bushel,  and 
I  think  all  roots  that  require  a  whole  season — beets,  car 
rots,  and  parsnips — will  cost  not  far  from  ten  cts.  a  bushel. 

My  rule  is  to  raise  all  the  roots  I  can,  of  the  several  va 
rieties,  so  that  every  animal  may  have  a  daily  feed  of  them 
from  November  until  May.  They  like  a  variety  of  food, 
and  with  hay  as  a  staple,  I  think  the  greater  variety  the 
better,  feeding  say  two  weeks  upon  one  kind,  then  taking 
another  two  weeks.  Many  think  they  can  get  more  fod 
der  from  an  acre  of  land  in  grass  or  in  corn  than  in  roots. 
Not  so : — An  acre  of  land  has  to  be  highly  manured  to 
produce  seventy  bushels  of  shelled  corn,  and  four  tuns 
of  dry  stalks,  worth  at  the  market  price  not  far  from  a 
hundred  dollars,  which  is  perhaps  a  fair  expression  of  their 
value  for  feeding.  The  same  acre,  with  rather  more  labor, 
will  produce  1,000  bushels  of  carrots,  worth  from  two  to 
three  hundred  dollars  in  different  markets,  just  as  their 
value  is  known  and  appreciated.  I  have  raised  all  the 
roots  usually  cultivated  for  feeding,  and  I  come  to  the 
bottom  of  the  root  bins  every  spring  with  a  stronger  con 
viction  of  their  value.  The  livinc/  commentaries  tell  the 


THE    TIM    BUXKER    PAPERS.  197 

story  a  great  deal  better  than  I  can,  and  some  of  my 
neighbors  have  got  the  lesson.  Deacon  Smith  learned  it 
before  I  did.  Mr.  Spooner  got  hold  of  it  early,  and  he 
always  drives  a  fat  horse,  that  goes  round  the  parish 
preaching  carrots,  wherever  he  calls,  just  as  plainly  as  Mr. 
Spooner  preaches  election  in  the  pulpit.  Now  I  have 
nothing  agin  Mr.  Spooner  in  the  world,  and  I  don't  mean 
any  reflection  on  him  when  I  say  that  the  old  horse  has 
more  "unction"  in  his  preaching  than  any  thing  we  have 
in  the  Hookertown  meeting-house  on  Sundays.  There 
hasn't  been  a  rib  in  sight  since  he  has  owned  him,  and 
when  he  drives  up  to  the  door  on  Sunday  morning  the 
horse  comes  up  with  a  prancing  gait,  and  a  coltish  air, 
that  says  "  carrots,"  as  plain  as  if  Mr.  Spooner  had  a  bag 
of  them  under  his  carriage  seat.  I  don't  talk  such  things 
Sundays,  but  you  know  a  man  can't  help  thinking. 

And  there  is  Seth  Twiggs,  whose  brains  one  might 
think  were  all  smoked  out,  has  got  ideas  straight  as  a 
ramrod  on  roots,  and  raises  heaps  of  them  every  year, 
though  he  has  but  a  few  acres  of  land.  Even  Jake  Frink 

S 

is  waked  up  by  the  preaching  of  Mr.  Spooner's  horse, 
though  he  never  hears  the  man — except  at  funerals.  He 
goes  in  for  a  crop  of  sugar  beets  this  season,  for  the  first 
time.  Tucker  and  Jones  are  not  yet  converted,  but  I  am 
expecting  even  they  will  be  brought  in  before  long. 

One  of  the  advantages  of  the  root  crop  is,  that  it  may 
be  put  in  late.  Ruta-bagas  and  carrots  may  be  sown  with 
out  any  detriment  any  time  in  the  month  of  June,  white 
turnips  a  month  later,  and  the  first  week  of  June  will  do 
very  well  for  sugar  beets  and  mangel  wurzels.  This  last 
is  the  most  productive  of  all  the  roots,  and  but  little  infe 
rior  to  the  sugar  beet  in  quality.  The  "  commentaries  " 
on  roots  are  multiplying  here. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  May  15,  1862. 


198  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 


NO.  58.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  STEALING  FRUIT 
AND  FLOWERS. 


"  Where  did  you  get  them  lalock  blossoms  and  roses  ?" 
asked  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  saw  Kier  Frink  driving  home 
his  empty  coal  cart,  with  his  horse  profusely  decorated. 
There  was  a  large  branch  between  his  ears  tucked  under 
the  bridle,  and  a  dozen  or  more  of  Dea.  Smith's  large 
damask  roses  nodding  from  the  hames. 

"  Shouldn't  'zactly  like  to  tell.  I'm  'fraid  you'd  all  be 
arter  'em,  they're  so  handsome." 

"Well,  I  can  tell,  you  scoundrel,"  said  Seth,  as  he 
tucked  his  stub  of  a  pipe  into  his  pocket.  "  The  roses 
came  from  Dea.  Smith's,  and  the  lalocks  from  my  yard, 
and  they  haven't  been  picked  more  than  five  minutes. 
You  miserable  White-oaker  and  thief,  don't  you  know  any 
better  than  to  steal  such  things  ?  I'll  have  you  sent  to 
Har'ford,  for  theft,  sure  as  I  am  a  live  man." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  do  it.  They  are  nothing  but 
posies,  and  haven't  any  more  vally  than  the  smoke  of  yer 
pipe,  Mister  Twiggs.  They  hung  over  the  road  tu,  and  I 
should  like  to  know  if  anybody  haint  a  right  to  what 
grows  in  the  ro.irl.  I  wanted  to  make  the  ole  hoss  look 
kinder  gay,  and  bring  home  something  nice  to  the  old 
'ornan  and  the  young  ones.  I  didn't  mean  any  harm." 

"Harm?  you-miserable  scapegrace !"  exclaimed  Seth, 
shaking  his  first ;  "  I  would  rather  you'd  taken  the  calf 
out  of  my  stable,  or  the  pig  out  of  my  pen.  Didn't  wife 
plant  that  bush,  and  hasn't  it  been  growing  these  four 
years,  and  now  it  is  all  broken  and  ruined,  and  the  flow 
ers  hang  on  that  wretched  carcass  of  a  coal  horse.  It's 
enuif  to  make  a  Christian  swear  to  see  lalocks  and  roses 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  199 

put  to  such  a  use.  If  there  is  any  justice,  you  shall  go  to 
Har'ford  jail." 

There,  you  see,  was  the  rub.  Seth  Twiggs  got  angry 
to  very  little  purpose.  There  is  no  law  that  touches  these 
vexatious  trespasses  upon  flowers  and  fruit ; — or  if  there 
is,  we  have  no  public  sentiment  to  enforce  it.  The  ma 
jority  of  the  public,  even  in  this  Commonwealth,  which  I 
am  bound  to  believe  is  head  and  shoulders  above  any 
other  in  this  respect,  have  no  taste  for  flowers  and  the 
finer  kinds  of  fruit,  and  they  look  upon  the  people  who 
cultivate  these  things  as  lawful  prey.  Their  own  flower 
gardens  are  limited  to  a  patch  of  bouncing  bet  and  tansy 
in  the  back  yard,  with  may-weed  and  catnip  in  front ;  and 
as  they  do  not  attach  any  particular  value  to  these  things, 
they  think  their  amiable  neighbors  who  cultivate  roses  and 
flowering  shrubs  prize  these  just  as  little.  They  would  as 
soon  break  down  a  moss  rose  in  a  neighbor's  yard,  as  a 
sweetbrier  growing  by  the  road-side.  They  admire  gay 
colors  and  sweet  odors,  as  most  savages  do,  and  that  is  the 
extent  of  their  taste  for  flowers.  They  have  no  other 
measure  of  value  than  money,  and  as  flowers  in  the  coun 
try  do  not  sell  in  market,  they  have  no  value.  A  pound 
of  butter  brings  twenty  cents,  and  is  worth  the  money. 
A  rose,  though  it  affords  pleasure  to  the  eye  and  to  the 
smell,  and  gratifies  our  love  of  the  beautiful,  brings  no 
price,  and  is  therefore  worth  nothing. 

It  is  pretty  much  so  with  fruits,  though  there  is  a  little 
more  conscience  about  stealing  them,  for  fruit  has  a  money 
value,  though  it  be  small.  Apples  are  common,  even 
among  these  rude  people ;  but  they  are  of  the  un grafted 
sorts,  and  hardly  pay  to  carry  to  market  where  the  better 
sorts  are  known.  But  they  think  their  neighbors  prize 
fine  pears,  grapes,  and  the  smaller  fruits,  as  little  as  they 
do  their  seedling  apples.  It  was  only  yesterday  that  I 
found  a  woman  and  her  two  children  in  my  strawberry 
beds,  helping  themselves  as  leisurely  as  if  they  had  been 


200  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

picking  in  a  cow  pasture.  They  had  brought  their  bask 
ets  with  them,  and  had  got  them  nearly  filled,  when  I  had 
to  lay  down  the  law  to  them.  They  had  at  least  a  dollar's 
worth  of  my  property,  and  were  about  to  walk  off  with  it. 

Now  I  don't  want  to  say  a  word  agin'  Hookertown,  or 
damage  the  reputation  of  the  place.  I  suppose  it  is  a  full 
average  of  Connecticut  towns,  and  .in  some  respects  a 
good  deal  better.  But  to  speak  the  plain  truth,  there  is 
a  good  deal  of  stealing  among  us  in  this  small  way.  And 
it  can't  be  laid  to  the  door  of  the  pulpit  neither.  Mr. 
Spooner  is  faithful — preaches  total  depravity  just. as  hard 
as  if  people  did  not  illustrate  that  doctrine  themselves — 
warns,  entreats,  and  expostulates  with  all  long-suffering 
and  patience.  But,  you  see,  the  most  of  these  people  don't 
come  to  meeting,  and  the  preaching  that  is  going  to  reach 
them,  I  guess,  will  have  to  be  in  men's  lives  rather  than 
in  meeting-houses. 

The  notion  that  nothing  is  of  any  value  unless  it  will 
sell,  seems,  to  lie  at  the  bottom  of  a  good  deal  of  this 
wickedness,  and  I  think  a  word  or  two  ought  to  be  said 
upon  it.  Now  this  may  be  true  with  a  great  many  peo 
ple.  They  are  so  mean  that  they  would  skin  flints  to 
make  money.  But  among  decent  Christian  people  this 
can't  be  so.  A  man  prizes  a  good  many  things  that  have 
no  money  value,  far  more  than  if  he  could  turn  them  into 
gold.  There  is  an  old  lapstone,  such  as  shoemakers  use, 
in  my  garret,  that  belonged  to  Sally's  grandfather.  He 
used  to  use  it,  and  when  she  was  a  little  child  she  remem 
bers  seeing  the  old  man  pound  leather  on  it.  Now  I  don't 
suppose  the  stone  would  sell  for  a  red  cent,  but  Sally  says 
she  would  not  part  with  it  for  the  Kohinoor  diamond,  and 
all  the  crown  jewels  of  Victoria.  She  is  an  honest  woman, 
and  I  am  bound  to  believe  her.  Anything  that  our  affec 
tions  enter  into  has  a  value  that  can  not  be  measured  by 
dollars  and  cents;  and  to  rob  us  of  these  things  is  to  do 
us  a  greater  injury  than  to  steal  sheep  and  horses.  I  can't 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  201 

blame  Seth  Twiggs  for  raving  about  his  lilac  bush.  His 
wife  planted  it  and  had  a  right  to  rejoice  in  it.  It  was 
rather  hard  to  see  the  growth  of  years  destroyed  in  a 
moment  by  an  ignorant  boor. 

We  cultivate  flowers  and  learn  to  love  them  for  their 
beauty,  and  for  the  pleasure  they  give  our  wives  and  chil 
dren.  They  cost  considerable  time  and  money,  and  really 
give  more  pleasure  than  many  things  that  cost  ten  times 
as  much.  They  are  associated  with  our  leisure  hours  and 
our  domestic  enjoyments.  They  seem  to  belong  to  the 
better  side  of  our  natures.  We  have  a  moss  rose  under 
our  bed-room  window  that  little  Sally  planted  when  she 
was  a  school  girl.  It  hangs  full  of  blossoms  every  year — 
not  worth  a  cent.  But  I  declare  I  had  rather  lose  a  half 
dozen  of  the  best  apple  trees  in  my  orchard  than  that 
worthless  shrub. 

It  is  very  much  so  with  our  nice  garden  fruits.  We 
raise  them  because  we  can't  buy  them  in  the  country,  and 
don't  want  to  beg  or  steal  them.  I  cultivate  grapes  and 
pears,  and  get  a  good  deal  interested  in  the  vines  and 
trees.  I  spend  days  in  training  them,  and  enjoy  my  power 
over  them.  They  have  a  value  to  me  above  the  market 
price,  because  they  are  the  product  of  my  skill.  I  have 
watched  that  bunch  of  grapes  from  its  blossom  to  the  pur 
ple  bloom  upon  its  ripened  berries.  I  have  watched  those 
ruddy  cheeked  pears  quite  as  anxiously,  and  anticipated 
the  delight  of  setting  them  before  my  friends,  when  they 
pay  me  a  visit.  When  the  friends  are  gathered  for  the 
feast,  it  is  a  sore  vexation  and  disappointment  to  find  the 
fruit  missing.  We  need  more  efficient  laws  to  protect  us 
against  fruit  and  flower  thieves,  and  above  all  a  wider 
diffusion  of  a  taste  for  these  things,  which  will  prove  the 
best  safeguard  against  their  loss. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEK,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  June  14,  1862. 


202  THE   TIM    BUNKEK   PAPERS. 


.  59.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  THE  COST  OF  PRIDE. 


"Father,  have  you  seen  the  Agriculturist?"  asked 
Sally,  as  she  handed  her  second  baby  to  her  mother  and 
the  paper  to  me.  I  had  been  to  the  post-office  that  after 
noon,  and  had  not  had  a  chance  to  look  at  it,  even  if  I 
had  been  in  the  house  long  enough  to  do  it.  This  is  gen 
erally  the  way;  the  women  have  the  first  cut.  I  have 
known  Mrs.  Bunker  to  leave  a  batch  of  dough  she  was 
mixing  to  read  the  paper,  and  that,  I  guess,  is  about  the 
last  thing  a  house-keeper  ought  to  leave,  especially  if  the 
yeast  is  good. 

You  see  it  so  happened  that  Sally  and  her  children  came 
over  from  Shadtown  that  afternoon,  to  make  us  a  little 
visit.  She  has  always  been  good  about  coming  home,  and 
since  John  has  been  gone  to  the  war  we  have  seen  more 
of  her  than  usual,  which  is  very  thoughtful  in  her. 

"  Well  no,  I  haven't.     What  is  in  the  wind  now  ?  " 

"  Just  read  what  a  Western  Farmer  says  about  your 
taking  lessons  in  spelling.  You  see  you  get  great  credit 
for  my  correcting  your  letters." 

"  Credit,  girl !  The  man  is  poking  fun  at  me  for  writing 
out  of  character.  I  knew  it  would  come  to  this,  if  you 
and  the  printers  didn't  let  my  spelling  alone." 

I  have  never  told  the  public  what  lots  of  trouble  I  have 
about  these  letters,  being  a  modest  man,  and  not  caring 
to  push  my  private  matters  into  notice.  Folks  are  so  aw 
ful  proud  nowadays  that  everything  has  to  be  fixed  up 
before  it  can  show  itself,  from  a  baby's  dress  to  a  Presi 
dent's  proclamation.  They  even  find  fault  with  Lincoln's 
State  papers,  because  the  rhetoric  isn't  quite  tall  enough, 
and  the  grammar  don't  alwuys  break  joints.  I'm  expect 
ing  nothing  else  but  they'll  get  out  a  new  edition  of  the 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  203 

catechism,  and  our  children  will  be  taught  "The  chief 
end  of  man  is  to  fix  up." 

You  see  in  the  first  place  I  didn't  want  to  write  at  all, 
considering  that  I  understood  the  use  of  a  plow  enuff  sight 
better  than  the  use  of  the  pen,  and  remembering  that  old 
saw  "  Let  the  cobbler  stick  to  his  last."  I  still  think 
there  is  wisdom  in  that  saying.  But,  you  see,  the  editor 
thought  I  had  better  write,  that  I  ought  not  to  hide  my 
light  under  a  bushel,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He  was  very 
civil  in  his  compliments,  and  what  was  I  that  I  should  set 
up  for  knowing  more  than  an  editor,  and  the  editor  of  the 
Agriculturist,  too  ?  I  thought  he  ought  to  know  what 
sort  of  talk  would  edify  farmers,  and  I  didn't  pretend  to 
be  anything  else.  So  I  promised  him  that  I  would  write 
for  one  year,  and  have  kept  on  ever  since. 

Then  Mrs.  Bunker  didn't  want  me  to  write ;  'twould 
make  a  public  man  of  me,  and  folks  would  come  to  stare 
round  the  house,  as  if  they  expected  to  see  a  lion  in  his 
cage ;  lionizing,  I  believe  she  called  it,  and  I  suppose  that 
was  about  what  she  meant. 

Then  Sally  put  in  agin'  my  writing;  said  she  should 
be  ashamed  to  have  my  letters  to  her  printed,  because  the 
spelling  was  awful.  She  admitted  the  sense  was  good 
ermff,  about  equal  to  any  thing  they  had  in  boarding 
school,  but  the  grammar  and  the  spelling  wanted  fixing. 
So  I  had  to  tell  her  if  the  spelling  didn't  suit  her,  she 
might  fix  it  to  suit  herself.  For  my  part  I  couldn't  see 
why  it  wasn't  just  as  well  to  spell  words  as  they  sounded, 
as  to  follow  the  dictionary.  I  thought  plow  was  about  the 
same  tool,  whether  they  spelt  it  with  a  w  or  uyh  at  the 
end;  one  was  considerable  shorter  than  the  other,  and 
would  save  ink ;  besides,  every  body  would  know  what  I 
meant,  and  that  was  the  end  of  talking  or  writing,  to  be 
understood.  But  I  couldn't  convince  her  by  any  common- 
sense  arguments,  that  my  spelling  was  good  enuff. 

So  "  Western  Farmer  "  and  the  public  will  see  that  my 


204  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

ideas  have  to  go  through  about  as  much  grinding  and  fix 
ing  before  they  come  to  light,  as  a  bag  of  wheat  does  be 
fore  it  comes  on  to  the  table  in  the  shape  of  bread.  Sally 
must  have  her  say,  and  the  editor  his,  and  the  printer  puts 
in  the  stops  and  pauses ;  so  that  by  the  time  my  ideas 
get  back  to  me  in  the  paper,  I  don't  hardly  know  them. 
Some  of  them  look  as  if  they  had  been  to  college,  and 
some  to  boarding  school,  and  some  brought  up  on  a  farm. 
But  I  take  it  the  sense  is  understood,  which  is  the  chief 
tiling. 

There  is  one  thing  I  don't  exactly  understand,  why  they 
should  put  in  what  Jake  Frink  says,  and  Uncle  Jotham, 
and  the  rest  of  them,  just  as  I  write  it,  and  practice  their 
fixing  up  on  me.  I  talk  for  all  the  world  just  like  Seth 
Twiggs,  but  Sally  says  that  is  the  vernacular,  and  don't 
look  well  in  print.  Perhaps  it  don't.  Tastes  differ. 
I  don't  think  it  pays  for  altering.  In  my  opinion  Sally 
had  better  mind  her  babies  than  to  be  tinkering  with  my 
spelling,  and  I  guess  the  public  would  understand  my 
writings  quite  as  well  if  the  printer  didn't  spend  so  much 
time  on  the  commas  and  exclamation  points.  Why,  any 
fool  would  know  when  a  question  was  asked,  without  the 
sign.  They  say  they  keep  a  fellow  in  the  printing  office 
at  about  $3  a  day,  just  to  tend  to  this  kind  of  tinkering. 
I  don't  think  it  pays ;  but  that  is  none  of  my  business. 

This  pride  shows  itself  everywhere,  and  is  about  as 
troublesome  on  the  farm  as  in  the  city.  I  am  afraid  it  will 
be  the  ruin  of  the  nation  yet.  It  seems  to  grow  worse 
the  longer  I  live.  It  costs  me  a  great  deal  more  to  live 
than  it  did  my  father,  and  if  John  ever  gets  back  alive 
from  war,  he  will  never  be  able  to  live  in  the  simple  way 
I  have  done.  Pride  costs  more  than  all  other  necessary 
family  expenses.  It  has  made  many  a  man  a  bankrupt, 
and  it  keeps  a  good  many  of  my  neighbors  poor.  Every 
thing  they  earn  is  spent  upon  their  backs,  or  upon  orna 
menting  and  fixing  up  their  houses  and  farms.  Farming 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  205 

is  a  good  business,  and  pays  all  decent  demands  upon  it, 
but  it  will  not  support  much  pride.  A  fence  that  costs  a 
dollar  a  rod  will  turn  cattle  just  as  well  as  a  faced  wall  of 
hewn  stone,  costing  twenty  times  as  much.  The  nineteen 
dollars  extra  goes  to  the  support  of  pride,  and  farming 
ought  not  to  be  expecte'd  to  foot  the  bills.  A  barn  that 
will  shelter  hay  and  cattle  is  just  as  good  as  one  costing 
four  times  as  much,  finished  as  elegantly  as  a  dwelling. 
Farming  will  not  pay  for  the  clapboards,  the  lath  and 
plastering,  the  ceiling  and  varnish.  If  a  man  has  made  a 
fortune  in  trade,  there  is  no  objection  to  his  building  a 
country  seat,  and  living  like  a  prince.  His  profits  will 
support  his  pride.  But  the  profits  of  ordinary  farming 
will  not  justify  a  like  expenditure.  He  may  keep,  if  he 
will,  a  servant  to  each  member  of  his  family,  but  a  farmer 
must  serve  himself.  When  he  gets  above  his  business  he 
had  better  leave  it.  It  strikes  me  that  a  farmer's  pride 
ought  to  run  to  his  business,  rather  than  to  his  walls  and 
buildings.  Other  folks  have  to  have  dwellings,  barns,  and 
fences,  and  it  is  no  great  shakes  to  own  good  lumber  and 
paint.  But  farmers  only  have  a  deep,  rich  soil,  fine  wheat 
and  corn  fields,  and  luxuriant  meadows.  It  will  pay  for 
a  farmer  to  cure  a  horse-pond,  to  drain  a  swale,  or  to  turn 
a  barren  pasture  into  a  meadow  that  will  cut  three  tuns 
of  hay  to  the  acre.  It  will  pay  for  him  to  raise  fine  horses 
and  cattle,  pigs  and  sheep.  He  ought  to  gratify  his  pride 
in  the  line  of  his  calling,  and  not  undertake  to  rival  mer 
chants  and  nabobs.  If  he  fixes  up  his  fields  and  breeds 
good  points  in  his  stock,  people  will  not  trouble  them 
selves  very  much  whether  he  says  cow  or  Jceow,  or  attends 
spelling  school  late  in  life. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooJcertown,  July  15,  1862. 

[Squire  Bunker's,  like  the  rest  of  our  correspondence, 
has  to  go  through  the  mill. — ED.] 


200  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 


NO.  60.— TIM  BUNKER   ON  SWAMPS  TURNING 
INDIAN. 


"  So  you  see  it's  turnin'  Injun  agin,"  said  Deacon  Little, 
as  he  looked  into  the  horse-pond  lot  where  I  was  mowing 
with  the  machine. 

"  I  guess  you  didn't  make  so  much  eout  of  me  in  that 
bargain  as  you  tho't  for,  Squire  Bunker,"  said  Jake  Frink, 
as  he  joined  the  Deacon  at  the  fence  a  few  days  ago. 

"  What  evidence  of  Indian  do  you  see  in  this  grass  ?  " 
I  inquired. 

"  Plenty  on't,"  answered  the  Deacon.  "  There's  dock, 
and  rushes,  and  brakes — I  told  you  so.  I  never  knewr  it 
to  fail.  A  reclaimed  swamp  allers  turns  Injun  arter  a  year 
or  two." 

"  And  you  hain't  got  more'n  half  the  grass  you  had  last 
year,"  chimed  in  Jake  Frink.  "  Neow  Squire,  I  du  say, 
if  you're  sick  of  your  bargain,  I'll  take  that  lot  back  agin 
at  jest  half  the  price  you  gin  me — and  that  is  mighty 
fair." 

"  How  much  hay  will  I  get  here  to  the  acre,  think  you  ?" 
I  inquired  of  Jake. 

"  Wall  neow,  naber,  it'll  be  tight  squeezin'  to  git  a  ton 
and  a  half,  and  the  first  crop  was  three  tun  three  year 
ago." 

"And  that  tun  and  a  half,"  I  replied,  "will  be  worth 
$25.  Taking  out  $3  for  cost  of  harvesting,  and  $4  more 
for  interest  of  land  and  cost  of  manure,  it  leaves  $18,  or 
the  interest  on  $300  an  acre.  Should  I  be  a  wise  one  to 
sell  it  for  $10  an  acre?" 

"  But  see  them  rushes  and  brakes,  Squire  Bunker  !"  ex 
claimed  the  Deacon."  You  see  the  Almighty  made  that  a 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  207 

swamp,  and  I  guess  you  won't  make  any  thing  else  eout 
on't  if  you  keep  tryin'  from  neow  till  doomsday." 

"  Well,  Deacon,  you  see  nothing  else  grew  here  but  such 
things,  and  sour  grasses,  four  years  ago,  and  since  I  put 
in  the  drains,  and  stocked  it  down,  we  have  had  less  of 
them  every  year.  There  is  a  hundred  pounds  of  good 
hay  where  there  is  one  pound  of  such  stuff.  You  can  not 
expect  sile  that  is  full  of  old  brake  roots,  and  rushes,  to 
say  nothing  of  foul  seed,  never  to  show  a  sign  of  the  old 
vegetation." 

"  Nothin'  will  come  of  it.  You  never  can  make  upland 
where  the  Almighty  has  made  a  swamp." 

"That's  so,"  responded  Jake.  "Better  take  $10  an 
acre,  and  trade  back.  It  will  be  all  moss  another  year — 
see  if  it  ain't." 

This  talk  of  a  July  morning  shows  pretty  well  the 
prejudices  of  some  of  my  neighbors  against  draining. 
They  want  to  find  an  excuse  for  doing  nothing,  and  thus 
set  up  a  standard  for  reclaimed  land,  that  they  would  not 
think  of  applying  to  land  that  needs  no  draining.  If  it 
shows  any  remains  of  the  old  grasses  and  rushes,  it  is,  of 
course,  going  back  again  to  swamp.  If  it  don't  continue 
to  bear  three  tuns  of  hay  to  the  acre,  they  hail  you  with, 
"  I  knew  it  would  be  so ;  the  land  is  running  out." 

Now  I  hold  that  we  ought  not  to  expect  any  more  of 
reclaimed  land  than  we  do  of  any  good  upland.  If  it  per 
forms  as  well  as  that,  it  is  clear  enough  that  draining  pays. 
No  upland  that  I  have  ever  cultivated  will  keep  up  a  yield 
of  two  or  three  tuns  to  the  acre,  without  manure.  It  is  very 
good  land  that  yields  a  tun  and  a  half  three  years  after 
laying  down.  I  never  expected  the  horse-pond  lot  to  do 
any  better,  but  it  has  disappointed  me  in  this  respect,  and 
has  held  out  better  without  manure  than  any  undrained 
land  upon  the  farm.  I  should  have  given  it  a  top-dressing 
last  year,  if  I  had  not  wanted  to  see  how  it  would  hold 
out.  The  yield  was  quite  two  tuns,  though  Jake  Frink 


208  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

saw  a  quarter  less.     With  manure  I  can  get  three  tuns 
easier  than  I  can  get  two  upon  upland. 

The  rushes  and  sour  stuff  that  Deacon  Little  makes  such 
a  fuss  about  grow  smaller  every  year,  and  will  soon  dis 
appear  entirely.  There  is,  however,  a  need  of  one  more 
drain  in  this  lot,  to  make  perfect  work,  and  that  I  calcu 
lated  on  when  I  began  the  job.  I  did  not  care  to  be  at 
the  expense  of  putting  it  down  unless  it  was  necessary. 
It  was  just  fifty  feet  between  the  last  two  drains  I  laid 
down,  and  I  can  see  now  that  it  needs  another  just  half 
way  between.  It  has  always  been  too  wet  along  this 
middle  line,  the  grass  has  not  been  so  heavy,  and  it  is 
here  that  the  brakes  and  rushes  are  found  principally.  It 
is  as  clean  as  ciphering  can  make  it,  that  there  ought  to 
be  another  drain  there.  Indeed,  I  have  lost  considerable 
money  by  waiting  so  long,  say  half  a  tun  of  hay  annually 
for  three  years.  But  what  I  have  lost  in  money  I  have 
gained  in  knowledge.  It  is  worth  something  to  know 
just  when  and  where  to  -drain.  For  such  land  as  this 
twenty-five  feet  is  none  too  near,  and  three  feet  is  none 
too  deep.  I  would  drain  three  inches  deeper  if  I  could 
get  the  falL  But  three  feet  makes  very  good  work,  and 
land  so  drained  I  arn  sure  will  never  turn  Indian. 

I  never  was  fool  enough  to  suppose  that  such  land 
would  keep  up  to  three  tuns  to  the  acre  without  manure 
of  some  kind.  But  some  men  demand  this,  and  because 
drained  swales  and  swamps  will  not  take  care  of  them 
selves,  they  think  draining  a  failure.  This  is  unreasona 
ble.  Parson  Spooner  preached  a  few  Sundays  ago  about 
"  not  muzzling  the  ox  that  treads  out  the  corn,"  applying 
it,  among  other  things,  to  giving  a  good  bounty  to  the 
soldiers.  You  see,  Hookertown  took  the  hint  next  town- 
meeting  day,  and  voted  $100  to  every  man  that  would 
enlist.  I  thought  the  truth  would  apply  to  the  sile,  as 
well  as  to  soldiers  and  oxen.  It  is  about  the  best  worker 
man  has  got,  and  we  have  no  business  to  starve  it.  I 


THE    TIM    BUXKEU    PAPEltS.  209 

suppose  I  ought  to  have  been  thinking  of  something  else 
on  Sunday,  but  the  application  hit  my  case  so  exactly, 
that  I  made  up  my  mind  right  off  that  I  wouldn't  muzzle 
the  horse-pond  lot  any  longer.  It  got  a  dose  of  manure 
right  away  after  mowing,  without  fail.  The  grass  looks 
as  green  as  a  leek  now,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Thank  you, 
Squire  Bunker,  for  your  kind  attentions." 

But  Mrs.  Bunker's  mind  took  another  tack,  thinking,  I 
suppose,  how  the  bounty  was  going  to  help  enlistments, 
and  that  the  new  soldiers  would  help  John  down  on  the 
James  River ;  she  thought  it  wa'n't  worth  while  to  have 
Parson  Spooner  muzzled  after  such  a  sermon,  and  hinted 
that  I  had  better  leave  a  barrel  of  potatoes  and  a  hind 
quarter  of  lamb  at  the  parsonage  next  day.  Well,  you 
see,  that  was  a  scriptural  application  of  the  doctrine,  and 
as  I  believe  in  facing  the  music,  I  left  them,  and  added  a 
bag  of  corn  on  my  account,  and  a  beet'  ham,  that  he  might 
know  that  the  oxen  and  corn  part  of  his  text  at  least  was 
remembered. 

But  to  return  to  the  subject,  as  Mr.  Spooner  sometimes 
says  in  the  pulpit,  I  think  we  make  a  great  mistake  in 
not  top-dressing  our  meadows  ofteuer,  say  as  often  as  once 
in  two  years.  In  a  small  lot  of  an  acre  and  a  quarter, 
where  I  cut  four  tuns  last  year,  I  only  cut  three  this,  and 
the  only  difference  was  in  manure.  Five  dollars'  worth 
of  compost  would  have  made  a  difference  of  at  least  one 
tun  of  hay. 

Deacon  Little  and  Jake  Frink  are  mighty  afraid  of  hav 
ing  too  large  grass.  Jake  often  says  that  he  had  rather 
have  "two  tun  than  three  to  the  acre."  Now  I  don't  be 
lieve  this  notion,  that  heavy  grass  makes  less  nutritious 
fodder  than  light.  A  beef  steak  out  of  a  corn-fed  ox  is 
enough  sight  better  than  one  out  of  a  thin,  grass-fed  animal. 
Why  should  not  grass  from  a  well-fed  soil  be  more  nour 
ishing  ?  I  have  watched  this  thing  at  the  manger  pretty 
close,  and  have  grown  three  tuns  and  a  half  to  an  acre, 


210  THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPEKS. 

and  I  have  never  yet  got  hay  so  big  that  the  cattle  would 
not  eat  it  up  clean.  Cut  your  heavy  grass  a  little  earlier, 
and  cure  it  well,  and  there  is  no  trouble  about  making 
good  fodder.  A  well-drained,  corn-fed  sile  never  turns 
Indian,  Jake  Frink  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown^  Aug.  15,  1862. 


NO.  61.— TIM  BUNKER  IN  HIS  GARDEN. 


"  What  kind  of  pears  do  you  call  them,  naber  ?  "  asked 
Jake  Frink  as  he  stood  admiring  a  dwarf  Flemish  Beauty, 
loaded  with  ruddy,  russet  fruit. 

"  That  is  a  dwarf  pear  tree,"  said  I. 

"  It  looks  like  a  giant,"  said  Jake,  confounding  the  tree 
with  the  fruit.  "  I  never  see  such  pears  in  all  my  life. 
Nothing  but  perries  '11  grow  on  my  place.  I've  heern  of 
them  dwarfs,  but  never  tried  'em.  Do  all  come  as  big  as 
that?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  they  graft  almost  any  kind  of  pear  on 
quince,  and  that  makes  the  tree  grow  small.  But  the 
fruit  is  generally  bigger  than  it  is  on  the  pear  stock. 
Dwarfing  does  not  alter  the  fruit.  It  only  makes  the  tree 
small." 

"  Dew  tell !  You  see,  I  thought  dwarfs  was  all  of  one 
kind.  I  shall  have  to  own  up  on  these  pears,  naber.  I 
tell'd  you  at  the  time  you  were  settin  'em  eout,  five  years 
ago,  that  they  never  would  come  to  nothin'.  Uncle  Jotham 
sot  eout  a  lot,  and  his'n  didn't  dew  nothin'.  They  grew 
miserable  scrubs,  got  lousy  and  worm-eaten,  and  I  guess 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  211 

there  waVt  one  left  arter  three  years.  But  now  I  see 
Jotham  Sparrowgrass  and  Timothy  Bunker  are  tew  indi 
viduals,  if  not  more." 

Jake  Frink's  eyes  hung  out  as  he  went  round  the  gar 
den,  spying  the  pears,  about  as  much  as  when  he  saw  that 
first  crop  of  hay  in  the  horse-pond  lot.  I  have  kept  back 
my  pears  from  bearing  more  than  most  cultivators  do,  and 
think  I  find  my  account  in  it.  Gentlemen  who  own  small 
lots  in  the  city  or  country  village  are  apt  to  be  in  a  hurry 
to  realize ;  they  let  every  fruit  that  sets  hang  on,  even  the 
first  year.  This  is  particularly  bad  for  the  bottom  limbs 
of  dwarfs,  which  are  the  most  difficult  to  coax  into  a 
generous  growth.  If  they  bear  much  fruit  they  will  not 
make  wood,  and  the  bottom  of  your  pyramid  is  spoiled. 
I  have  seen  a  good  many  dwarfs  killed  outright  by  over 
bearing.  With  the  standards  there  is  not  so  much  danger 
— indeed,  none  at  all,  if  we  except  the  Bartlett,  and  a  few 
other  early-bearing  varieties. 

I  picked  off  all  the  fruit  for  three  years,  and  threw  all 
the  force  of  the  trees  into  wood.  If  I  can  get  good,  stout 
wood,  well  ripened  in  the  fall,  I  consider  this  the  best  crop 
a  tree  can  bear  for  four  years  at  least.  If  a  tree  is  a  bad 
grower,  I  keep  it  back  still  longer.  I  have  some  stand 
ards  out  nine  years,  and  dwarfs  six,  that  have  never  borne 
a  fruit,  and  I  guess  I  know  what  I  am  about.  They  have 
blossomed  profusely,  and  some  of  them  set  fruit — but  I 
have  pulled  them  off,  though  it  went  very  much  against 
the  grain. 

When  they  come  into  bearing,  after  such  delay,  there  is 
great  satisfaction  in  looking  at  the  fruit,  some  in  eating  it, 
and  more  still  in  giving  it  away.  You  see,  in  growing  a 
handsome  fruit,  perfect  after  its  kind,  a  man  enters  into 
co-partnership  with  nature.  He  helps  nature  to  do  some 
thing  which  would  be  impossible  without  him,  and  nature 
helps  him.  The  joint  product  is  as  much  ah  honor  to  man 
as  it  is  to  nature.  A  basket  of  fine  pears  glorifies  a  gar- 


212  THE    TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

dener  as  much  as  a  great  speech  does  an  orator.  The 
giving  away  of  the  fruit  or  putting  it  upon  exhibition  is 
the  publication  of  his  speech.  It  sets  the  gardener  to 
talking  in  a  very  mute  kind  of  way  that  all  sensible  peo 
ple  comprehend.  I  should  call  an  orator  rather  stupid 
who  spouted  his  speech  to  the  winds.  He  wants  an  au 
dience.  That  gardener  Licks  both  wit  and  manhood,  who 
is  content  with  eating  his  own  pears.  They  should  have 
a  chance  to  speak  for  him. 

And  this  reminds  me  of  a  circumstance  that  has  just 
happened  in  Hookertown.  You  see,  a  week  ago  Sunday, 
Mr.  Spooner  preached  a  sermon  on  the  text  "By  their 
fruits  ye  shall  know  them,"  applying  the  doctrine,  among 
other  things,  to  Slavery,  and  showing  up  this  wicked  war 
as  one  of  its  fruits.  He  pictured  out  a  big  tree,  and  the 
branches  hung  with  treason,  rebellion,  oppression,  theft, 
murder,  and  about  all  the  vices  that  disgrace  mankind. 
Now,  you  see,  human  nature  is  weak,  and  my  mind,  in 
stead  of  following  the  thread  of  discourse,  was  running  on 
the  fruits  in  my  garden.  My  Bartletts  were  just  in  their 
glory,  and  a  man  couldn't  have  said  fruits  on  any  occasion, 
without  my  thinking  of  them.  So  when  we  got  home 
from  meeting,  I  said  to  Mrs.  Bunker :  "  Sally,  we  needn't 
be  ashamed  to  be  known  by  our  fruits ;  suppose  we  send 
Mr.  Spooner  a  basket  of  Bartletts." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.  "  Send  the  basket  heaping  full 
and  send  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  so  that  he  will 
know  what  it  means." 

Sally,  you  see,  is  one  of  Mr.  Spooner's  right  hand  men, 
or  rather  women,  a  modern  Dorcas,  to  whom  it  seems  to 
come  natural  to  help  the  poor,  and  make  other  folks  hap 
py.  So  I  thought  it  fair  to  credit  her  while  I  credited  the 
minister,  and  put  on  top  of  the  basket  a  card :  "  With  the 
compliments  of  Mrs.  Bunker,  Matt.  7  :  20." 

I  am  getting  to  be  pretty  well  along  in  life,  and  my  en 
joyment  of  gardening  increases  with  my  years.  I  am 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  213 

on!}7  sorry  that  I  had  not  begun  to  plant  fruit  trees  earlier. 
I  hope  your  young  readers  will  learn  wisdom  and  improve 
the  present  season. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEB,  ESQ. 
HooJcertown,  Sept.  15,  1862. 


NO.  62.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  RUNNING  ASTERN. 


"  A  great  crop  of  corn  this,"  said  Patrick,  as  he  threw 
the  tenth  red  ear  over  the  heap  of  stalks  from  which  he 
was  husking. 

" '  Taint  nothing  to  what  I've  seen  over  on  the  Island 
when  I  used  to  live  there,"  said  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrow- 
grass,  with  a  look  that  would  have  annihilated  anybody 
but  an  Irishman. 

"  An  how  much  d'ye  think  ye've  seen  over  there,  old 
fellow?"  asked  Pat,  determined  to  sift  matters  to  the 
bottom. 

"  Eighty  bushels  to  the  acre  of  clean  shell  corn,  and 
nothing  used  but  fish  manure  neither." 

"  An  sure  that  was  some  corn,  but  the  Squire  will  have 
a  hundred  as  sure  as  ye're  born.  That  is  the  tenth  red 
ear,  and  we  have  not  been  husking  an  hour  yet,  and  every 
red  ear  marks  ten  bushels,  they  say." 

"  Red  ears  !  you  fool !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Jotham,  "  th* 
corn  is  more  than  quarter  red  ears.  There  won't  bx$ 
seventy  bushels  to  the  acre  on  any  part  of  the  Squire's  farm, 
I  know." 

"You  must  go  over  to  neighbor  Frink's  to  see  corn," 
remarked  Seth  Twiggs,  drily,  as  he  sat  on  his  milking 


214  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

stool  at  the  end  of  the  heap,  puffing  away  with  his  pipe, 
while  his  hands  were  busy  with  the  ears. 

"  Now,  Jake,  own  up,"  said  Tucker,  "  and  tell  us  whether 
the  crop  on  that  lot  was  ten  bushels  and  three  pecks,  or 
three  bushels  and  ten  pecks." 

"  It  was  plump  twenty  bushels,  and  no  thanks  to  you 
either,"  said  Jake  indignantly.  "  It  is  enuff  to  make  any 
man  go  astarn  to  have  such  a  hand  to  work  for  him  as 
you  are.  The  weeds  grew  faster  than  the  corn,  a  mighty 
sight." 

These  remarks  were  made  at  a  husking  bee  on  my  barn 
floor  a  few  evenings  back.  I  approve  of  huskings  if  they 
are  rightly  managed,  though  they  probably  do  more  to 
promote  good  neighborhood  than  they  do  to  help  on  the 
farmer's  work.  They  make  a  pleasant  gathering  of  old 
friends  and  neighbors,  and  sometimes  relieve  a  man  in  a 
pinch.  The  scene  was  a  good  deal  like  that  in  Whittier's 
song  of  the  huskers: 

"  Swung  o'er  the  heaped-up  harvest 

From  pitchforks  in  the  mow, 
Shone  dimly  down  the  lanterns 

On  the  pleasant  scene  below  ; 
The  growing  pile  of  husks  behind, 

The  golden  ears  before, 
And  laughing  eyes  and  busy  hands, 

And  brown  cheeks  glimmering  o'er. 

Half  hidden  in  a  quiet  nook, 

Serene  of  look  and  heart, 
Talking  their  old  times  over, 

The  old  men  sat  apart ; 
While  up  and  down  the  unhusked  pile, 

Or  nestling  in  its  shade, 
At  hide-and-seek  with  laugh  and  shout, 

The  happy  children  played." 

You  see,  Whittier  is  an  old  fellow  down  in  Massachu 
setts,  that  writes  songs,  and  once  in  a  while  he  touches  up 
the  farmers  as  well  as  the  negroes.  I  suppose  it  is  be 
cause  he  thinks  they  are  both  rather  sad  cases,  and  need 
sympathy.  Mrs.  Bunker  says  he  is  the  best  ballad  maker 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPEES.  215 

in  America,  and  I  believe  our  Sally  is  pretty  much  the 
same  way  of  thinking.  At  any  rate,  I  guess  he  has  been 
to  a  husking,  and  knows  pretty  near  how  they  go  on. 
The  old  folks  that  evening  had  the  barn  floor  pretty  much 
to  themselves,  the  young  ones  preferring  out-of-doors, 
where  they  had  a  plenty  of  moonshine  in  the  heavens,  and 
I  guess  some  below. 

Jake  Frink's  corn  field  of  course  came  up  for  discussion ; 
for  I  never  saw  men  at  a  husking  but  they  wanted  one 
more  butt  than  they  found  in  the  corn  heap.  It  was  cer 
tainly  the  poorest  piece  of  corn  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
if  there  is  any  poorer  in  town,  I  have  not  seen  it.  It 
wasn't  so  much  because  the  land  was  poor  naturally,  for 
his  farm  joins  mine,  and  there  can't  be  a  great  deal  of 
original  difference  in  the  soil.  His  corn  field  and  mine 
were  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  apart,  but  there  was  a  good 
deal  more  than  that  difference  in  the  yield.  Tucker  prob 
ably  made  an  under-statement  in  putting  it  at  ten  bushels 
and  a  fraction,  but  there  could  not  have  been  over  twenty 
bushels,  and  one-third  of  that  was  soft  corn.  It  was  hoed 
only  once,  and  the  crop  of  wild  mustard  and  wormwood 
was  very  generous.  Grass  was  so  plenty  that  Jake's  cows 
found  the  best  pasture  upon  the  corn  field. 

"  What  is  gwine  to  be  the  price  of  mustard  this  fall, 
naber  Frink?"  inquired  Seth  Twiggs. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Jake,  "  I  sha'n't  have  any  to  sell. 
It  makes  tol'able  fodder." 

"  You'll  make  beef  on't,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Tucker, 
very  gravely. 

"  How  much  profit  d'ye  spose  ye've  made  on  that  crop  ?" 
inquired  Uncle  Jotham. 

"  Profit !  "  exclaimed  Jake.  "  I  don't  farm  for  profit. 
I'm  thankful  enuff  if  I  can  get  a  livin'.  I've  allers  had  a 
hard  time  on't,  and  this  year  have  run  astarn  a  little  more 
than  common." 

"  And  where  do  you  'spose  the  leak  is,  in  your  pocket  ?" 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPEKS. 

I  inquired.  "  Wall,  neow  I  can't  tell,"  said  Jake,  scratch 
ing  his  head.  It  seems  as  if  the  trouble  was  at  the  top  of 
the  pocket  instead  of  the  bottom,  and  I've  been  allers 
siferin'  to  find  out  why  money  didn't  git  into  my  pocket. 
Mine  allers  gits  eout  afore  it  gits  in,  so  that  the  most  of  the 
time  I  don't  have  nothin'.  I've  allers  ben  runnin'  astarn 
since  I  begun  to  farm  it,  and  I  don't  know  what  the  mat 
ter  is." 

Jake's  puzzle  is  that  of  a  good  many  others,  though 
few,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  are  quite  so  bad  off  as  he  is.  They 
do  not  make  any  headway,  but  are  rather  getting  in 
debt  every  year.  Many  have  to  sell  out  and  change  their 
business,  or  emigrate  to  the  West,  where  the  land  has  not 
been  so  long  abused  as  it  has  in  the  older  States.  There 
is  something  in  Jake's  insinuation  that  bad  help  is  the 
cause  of  bad  crops.  This  is  apt  to  be  the  case  where  the 
employer  is  not  in  the  field  himself  with  his  hands  for  a 
large  part  of  the  time.  I  have  never  yet  seen  a  farm  that 
would  thrive  without  the  constant  oversight  of  the  owner. 
Farming  necessarily  confines  a  man  at  home  as  closely  as 
any  other  business.  There  are  occasions  of  loss  every 
day  in  seed  time  and  harvest,  if  he  is  away  from  home. 
But  Jake's  trouble  is  not  here,  for  he  does  not  hire  much 
help  of  any  kind,  and  what  he  does  hire  is  a  fair  average 
of  farm  help. 

One  thing  that  makes  him  run  astern  is  the  want  of  all 
system  in  making  manure.  He  does  not  feel  that  this  is 
an  essential  part  of  a  farmer's  business.  He  does  not 
make  one  load  where  he  has  the  material  to  make  ten.  An 
empty  barn-yard  makes  a  barren  corn-field.  This  makes 
a  man  discouraged,  and  he  does  nothing  promptly  and 
with  a  will.  He  runs  astern  in  every  crop  through  the 
season,  and  in  his  pecuniary  affairs  at  the  end  of  the  year. 

But  this  is  not  all  the  trouble  with  my  neighbor.  Jake 
is  not  what  he  ought  to  be  morally,  and  this,  perhaps,  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  his  poor  farming,  as  is  the  case  with  a 


THE    TIM    BTJNKEK   PAPERS.  217 

multitude  of  others.  It  takes  something  more  than  a 
strong  body  and  a  sound  mind  to  make  a  successful  tiller 
of  the  soil.  Manhood  is  as  much  an  element  of  prosperity 
in  this  as  in  any  other  calling.  m  If  a  man  goes  to  the  vil 
lage  and  haunts  taverns,  nothing  will  save  his  business 
from  disaster.  He  will  make  foolish  bargains,  sell  what 
he  ought  to  keep,  and  buy  what  he  does  not  want.  If  he 
is  tricky  in  his  business  dealings,  he  will  soon  lose  the 
confidence  of  his  fellow  men,  and  the  market  for  his  prod 
uce.  Temperance  and  integrity  are  about  the  best  stock 
a  man  can  keep  on  the  farm,  and  with  these,  I  have  rarely 
known  a  farmer  to  run  astern. 

Yours  to  command, 

TlMOTHJ   BUNKEE,   ESQ. 

HooJcertown,  Nov.  15,  1862. 


No.  63.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  EXTRAVAGANCE. 


"  Forty-five  thousand  dollars  for  jewelry,  at  one  store, 
in  one  morning  !"  said  Mrs.  Bunker  as  she  took  off  her 
specs,  and  laid  down  the  Times,  in  which  she  had  just 
read  that  account. 

"  And  how  many  stores  do  you  'spose  they've  got  in 
New  York,  where  they  sell  them  'ere  fixins  ?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Seth  Twiggs,  who  had  dropped  in  with  her  knitting, 
and  sat  in  a  meditative  mood,  while  Mrs.  Bunker  read  the 
war  news.  (Seth  used  to  take  the  daily  paper  himself, 
but  since  the  rise  in  price,  he  says  he  can't  afford  it. 
Twelve  dollars  a  year  for  a  daily  paper,  he  says,  is  aleetle 
too  mighty  for  a  poor  man  who  works  for  his  living.  That 
would  more  than  buy  a  barrel  of  flour,  and  it  only  takes 


218  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

two  barrels  to  carry  his  family  through  the  year.  I  have 
noticed,  however,  that  he  and  his  wife  are  more  neighbor 
ly  than  common,  since  they  stopped  the  daily  paper.  I 
am  not  particularly  sorry,  for  Seth  is  good  company,  if 
it  wasn't  for  his  everlasting  pipe,  which  I  abominate,  as 
all  sensible  people  should.  What  upon  earth  a  man  should 
want  to  make  a  chimney  of  his  nose  for,  I  never  could 
see.  We  are  kind  o'  lonesome  since  Sally  got  married 
and  John  went  off  to  the  war,  and  neighbors  don't  come 
amiss.  Seth  also  has  a  son  in  the  war,  and  we  have  a  con 
siderable  fellow  feeling.) 

"  There's  a  hundred  of  them  stores  at  least,"  replied 
Mrs.  Bunker. 

"  You  don't  mean  a  hundred  on  'em  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Jacob  Frink,  whom  the  neighbors  all  call  "Polly,"  for 
short — except  a  few  of  us  older  people,  who  say  "  Aunt 
Polly." 

"  What  a  sight  of  silver  spoons  and  forks,  tea-pots  and 
tureens,  fruit  knives  and  porringers,  they  must  have  down 
there,  if  all  the  stores  sold  as  much  as  that  'ere  one  you 
read  about !" 

"  It  would  make  four  millions  and  a  half  of  dollars, 
spent  in  gewgaws  in  one  morning,"  said  I,  willing  to  in 
crease  Aunt  Polly's  astonishment. 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Squire  Bunker !"  said  she.  "  That 
is  more  than  Jacob  could  carry  in  his  cart." 

"  Well,  I  guess  it  is.  It  would  line  Broadway  with 
silver,  from  the  Battery  to  Central  Park,"  said  L 

"  Provided  you  did'nt  lay  it  on  too  thick,"  added  Mrs. 
Bunker,  squirming  in  her  chair,  at  the  extravagant  ex 
pression. 

"  I  said  line  it,  Sally,  not  cover  it."     I  responded. 

"  Wall,  it  is  an  awful  sight  of  money  any  way  !"  said 
Aunt  Polly.  "  I  fear  I  should  covet,  if  I  see  it." 

"And  where  do  you  suppose  it  all  conies  from,  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Twiggs. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  219 

"  I  'van  tell  you  where  some  of  it  comes  to"  answered 
Aunt  PoJy.  "  You  see,  Kier  has  just  got  home  from  the 
war,  wounded  in  his  left  arm.  And  he  stopped  in  New 
York  jest  to  see  the  sights,  and  to  get  something  to  bring 
home  to  the  old  folks,  and  to  his  family  up  at  the  White 
Oaks.  And  don't  you  think  he  brought  me  home  a  pair 
of  gold  specs  and  a  gold  thimble  for  his  wife,  and  a  silver 
trumpet  for  his  boy,  Jacob  Frink,  jr.,  who  aint  more  than 
six  months  old.  Now  we  didn't  need  these  things  any 
more  than  a  cat  needs  tew  tails.  I  had  a  pair  of  steel 
bows  that  Jacob  got  me  five  years  ago,  and  they  are  jest 
as  good  as  new,  and  I  can  see  in  'em  just  as  well  as  in 
the  new  ones,  and  a  trifle  better.  And  then  his  wife  had 
thimbles  enough,  rather  more  than  she  used,  any  way, 
judging  by  the  looks  of  Kier,  when  he  used  to  drive  the 
coal  cart.  She  never  kept  him  tidy,  and  I  don't  believe 
gold  thimbles  will  help  her  case,  if  she  had  a  cart  load  of 
'em.  And  then  as  to  that  boy,  he  won't  be  big  enough 
under  a  year  to  blow  a  squash  leaf  squawker,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  trumpets.  A  silver  trumpet !  It  is  the  only  article 
of  silver  in  the  whole  neighborhood  of  the  White  Oaks, 
barring  the  small  change  they've  got  stowed  away  in 
their  stockings,  agin  it  comes  into  fashion  agin.  Now 
Kier  paid  ten  dollars  for  that  'ere  trumpet,  and  he  had  no 
more  use  for  it  than  his  wife  has  for  a  pianny.  You  see, 
he  had  just  got  paid  on0,  and  he  had  never  seen  so  much 
money  before  in  one  pile,  in  all  his  life.  He  wanted  to 
make  a  sensashun  in  the  White  Oaks,  and  I  guess  he  did 
it,  when  he  bought  that  article.  Not  less  than  twenty- 
five  dollars,  the  price  of  blood,  as  it  were,  all  spent  for 
nothin !  Ah,  if  he  had  only  got  a  raw  hide  for  that 
youngster  there  would  have  been  some  sense  in  it." 

Aunt  Polly  paused  for  breath,  and  looked  red  in  the  face 
as  she  doubtless  remembered  the  wallopings   she   had  be 
stowed  upon  Kier  in  his  juvenile  days.     But   there   is  a 
deal  of  sense  in  what  the  old  lady  says.     You   see,  this 
10 


220  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

war  has  made  money  awful  plenty,  such  as  it  is,  among  a 
certain  class  of  people.  It  has  got  into  new  hands,  and 
they  are  itching  to  let  the  world  know  that  they  have 
got  it.  I  know  of  some  fellows  that  have  gone  to  the 
war  that  are  earning  more  money  for  their  families  than 
they  ever  did  before.  There  are  Tucker's  two  boys  that 
never  did  anything  but  hunt,  fish,  and  loaf,  but  they  are 
now  earning  their  rations  and  thirteen  dollars  extra,  a 
thing  they  never  did  before,  without  the  extra.  There 
are  hosts  of  contractors  for  steamboats,  for  iron-clads,  for 
army  clothing,  for  horses,  for  mules,  for  forage,  for  flour, 
for  rations  of  all  kinds,  that  are  getting  a  big  slice,  and 
piling  up  money  by  the  hat  full.  This  money  is  distribut 
ed  all  through  the  country,  and  farmers  come  in  for  their 
share.  Well,  now,  it  is  mighty  natural  for  folks  that 
have  been  stinted  for  a  good  while,  when  they  get  hold 
of  the  cash,  to  make  it  fly.  So  it  goes  for  jewelry,  for 
bonnets,  and  silver  trumpets,  and  all  sorts  of  jimcracks 
that  tickle  the  women  and  children,  and  don't  do  any 
body  much  good. 

You  see,  George  Washington  Tucker,  jr.,  that  enlisted 
in  the  beginning  of  the  war,  sent  home  fifty  dollars  to  his 
intended,  Miss  Almeda  Georgiana  Bottom,  and  told  her  she 
might  swell  for  once,  as  she  had  never  had  a  fair  chance 
in  life.  The  next  Sunday  I  rather  guess  there  was  a  sen 
sation  in  the  Hookertown  Meeting-house  that  kept  sleepy 
folks  awake,  if  the  sermon  didn't.  She  had  on  a  pair  of 
ear-rings,  a  big,  gold-washed  watch-chain,  and  bracelets 
like  Col.  Smith's  daughter,  a  monstrous  swell  of  hoop 
skiits,  one  of  those  two  story  bonnets  with  pink  flowers  in 
the  second  story  and  a  top  knot  of  feathers,  and  to  top 
all,  or  rather  to  bottom  all,  a  pair  of  new  calf-skin  shoes 
that  squeaked  like  a  cider  mill.  She  came  sailing  into 
meeting  just  after  the  first  hymn,  when  Mr.  Spooner  was 
reading  scripture  where  it  says  "  Behold  the  lilies  of  the 
field,"  etc.  The  shoes  made  such  a  squeaking  that  lie  had 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  221 

to  stop  until  the  young  woman  got  seated.  Some  of  the 
young  folks  in  the  pew  behind  me  tittered,  and  an  old 
lady  in  my  own  pew  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth. 
I  suppose  she  wanted  to  cough  just  then,  and  didn't  like 
to  disturb  the  meeting.  Mr.  Spooner  looked  astonished, 
as  if  he  had  seen  a  vision. 

Now,  you  see,  this  sort  of  thing  is  going  on  all  over  the 
country,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  extravagance  in  folks 
buying  jewelry  and  knick-knacks  that  they  do  not  have 
any  use  for.  I  suppose  it  is  rather  worse  than  common 
just  now,  but  there  has  always  been  a  good  deal  of  it. 
If  a  man  buys  what  he  don't  need,  I  call  him  extravagant, 
whether  it  is  an  extra  acre  of  land,  a  two  story  bonnet, 
or  a  bogus  gold  watch  chain,  without  any  watch.  If  a 
man  can  do  his  business  with  a  wheelbarrow,  he  should 
not  invest  in  a  horse  and  cart.  If  his  farm  only  affords 
occupation  for  one  horse  and  cart,  he  should  not  buy  a 
yoke  of  oxen  and  cart.  If  he  has  only  capital  to  work 
twenty  acres  to  advantage,  he  is  very  extravagant  to  pur 
chase  fifty.  If  he  has  only  feed  for  six  cows,  he  should 
not  keep  eight.  This  is  one  of  our  greatest  faults  as  a 
people,  and  I  am  afraid  this  war,  if  it  ends  in  the  triumph 
of  the  government,  as  we  hope  it  will,  will  not  remedy 
the  evil.  We  buy  cargoes  of  silks,  and  jewelry,  wines, 
and  brandies,  that  we  have  no  need  of.  Miss  Almeda 
Georgiana  Bottom  is  not  the  only  sinner  among  us,  not 
by  many  hundred,  I  tell  you. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Jan.  ls£,  1863. 


THE    TIM    BUNKEll    PAPERS. 


NO.  64.—  TIM  BUNKER  ON  THE  FARMER'S  OLD 

AGE. 


"  Sallie  Bunker  Slocum  is  the  baby's  name,"  said  Mrs. 
Bunker,  as  she  took  off  her  spectacles  and  laid  down  the 
letter  from  Shadtown,  which  I  had  just  brought  in  from 
the  Post-Office. 

"  I  like  the  name  well  enough,  except  the  spelling  of 
it,"  she  continued.  "  Sally  was  my  mother's  name,  it  is 
my  name,  and  my  daughter's,  and  if  they  wanted  to  keep 
up  the  name  in  the  family,  I  don't  see  why  they  didn't 
spell  it  in  the  old  way.  If  I  set  out  to  do  a  thing  I  would 
do  it  right." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  a  little  more  genteel,"  I  replied.  "That 
is  the  way  they  spell  it  among  the  aristocratic  families  of 
the  South." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  don't  like,"  said  she.  "It  is  a 
miserable  affectation  of  women  who  read  novels  more  than 
they  do  their  Bibles.  We  have  no  aristocracy  up  here, 
and  judging  from  what  I  saw  when  I  was  down  South,  I 
never  want  to  see  any.  Isn't  this  wretched  war  carried 
on  to  bolster  up  an  aristocracy,  and  that  a  few  families 
may  live  in  idleness  at  the  expense  of  the  poor?  I  don't 
want  to  see  any  aristocratic  trumpery  on  my  grandchil 
dren.  Sallie  won't  look  well  on  a  grave  stone." 

"  What  does  Sally  write  about  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  a  word  about  the  spelling.  She  seems  to  think  it 
is  all  the  same.  She  writes :  '  We  carried  the  baby  out 
to  meeting  for  the  first  time  last  Sabbath,  and  it  was  bap 
tized  Sallie  Bunker.  We  never  thought  of  calling  her 
any  thing  else,  out  of  regard  to  you  and  grandmother, 
though  we  did  not  tell  you  at  the  time  you  were  here,  lest 
you  should  be  too  much  puffed  up  with  your  honors.  She 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  223 

is  a  nice  child,  and  little  Timothy  thinks  a  world  of  her.' 
That  is  all  she  says  about  it.  I  shall  write  her  immediate 
ly,"  said  Mrs.  Bunker,  with  emphasis,  "  that  my  name  is 
not  Sallie." 

Now  we  do  not  always  agree  on  small  points,  but  on 
the  larger  matter  of  having  grandchildren,  we  see  pretty 
much  alike.  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  comforts  of  old  age 
to  have  children's  children  around  us,  to  cheer  us  while 
we  live,  and  to  bear  our  names  and  to  take  our  places 
when  we  are  gone.  We  can  hardly  have  too  many  of 
them,  and  I  shall  not  be  very  particular  whether  their 
names  have  a  letter  more  or  less,  if  we  only  have  the 
children. 

This  is  a  matter  of  considerable  solicitude,  not  only 
here  in  Hookertown,  but  in  a  great  many  farming  towns 
around  us.  The  present  generation  is  getting  pretty  well 
along  in  life,  and  we  do  not  know  who  is  going  to  take 
our  places.  You  would  be  surprised  to  see  how  few  young 
men  there  are  at  the  meeting-house  on  Sunday.  The  men 
who  sit  at  the  head  of  the  pews  are  almost  all  gray  hair 
ed,  and  some  of  them  are  about  as  white  as  snow.  It 
looks  a  great  deal  worse  than  it  did  a  year  ago,  before  so 
many  went  to  the  war.  Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass  has 
no  son  to  take  his  place,  and  Seth  Twiggs,  Jake  Frink, 
and  myself,  have  boys  in  the  army,  and  a  dozen  more  went 
from  our  parish.  It  is  about  an  even  chance  whether  we 
ever  see  many  of  them  again.  The  war  bids  fair  to  be  a 
long  one,  and  what  the  bullets  don't  kill,  the  hospital  will 
be  likely  to  finish.  But  then  we  ain't  sorry  the  boys  have 
gone,  and  if  they  don't  come  back,  we  are  going  ourselves, 
if  the  rebellion  is  not  crushed.  It  is  pretty  certain  that 
our  farms  won't  be  worth  much  to  ourselves,  or  to  our 
grandchildren,  if  Jeff.  Davis  is  going  to  rule.  It  is  the 
old  battle  of  despotism  and  liberty,  and  we  are  bound  to 
see  it  through,  whatever  may  be  the  cost. 

We  have  got  things  fixed  up  pretty  comfortable,  and 


224  THE    TIM    BUXKElt    PAPERS. 

it  will  be  pretty  hard  to  go  off  and  leave  them,  but  we 
might  say  that,  I  suppose,  when  we  start  on  a  longer 
journey.  We  can't  expect  to  stay  here  forever,  and  a  few 
years  more  or  less  won't  make  any  particular  difference 
with  us,  when  we  get  into  the  promised  land.  Most  of 
us  here  in  Hookertown  have  kept  old  age  in  view  for  a 
good  many  years,  and  I  guess  we  are  about  as  comfortable 
and  jolly  a  set  of  old  people  as  you  will  find  among  your 
hundred  thousand  readers.  We  have  most  of  us  got  good 
houses  that  keep  us  just  as  comfortable  and  entertain  our 
friends  as  well  as  a  house  that  rents  in  the  city  for  a  thou 
sand  dollars  or  more.  We  are  as  independent  as  wood- 
choppers,  on  fuel,  for  if  coal  runs  up  to  ten  dollars  a  ton, 
as  it  has  this  winter,  we  can  say  to  the  coal  merchant, 
"  No  you  don't,  Mr."  and  turn  to  the  wood-pile.  We  have 
been  using  coal  for  several  years,  because  it  was  cheaper 
than  it  was  to  hire  labor,  and  chop  and  cart  the  wood. 
But  there  isn't  a  man  of  us  but  has  a  good  wood  lot,  and 
I  guess  there  is  more  wood  in  this  town  than  there  was 
fifty  years  ago.  It  is  a  great  consolation  to  know  where 
your  fuel  can  come  from,  in  case  of  a  pinch.  And  then  in 
case  the  house  or  barn  wants  repairs  it  is  mighty  con 
venient  to  know  that  you  have  a  living  lumber  yard  close 
by,  where  every  shingle,  plank,  and  timber,  you  need  is  on 
hand.  Twenty  acres  of  woodland  that  you  have  watched 
the  growth  of  for  forty  years  or  more  is  about  as  good 
as  any  bank  stock  I  know  of.  I  suppose  I  could  sell  the 
timber  on  any  acre  of  mine  for  two  hundred  dollars,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  fuel.  That  same  land  cost  me  only 
seventeen  dollars  an  acre.  Perhaps  some  folks  who  are 
in  such  a  mighty  hurry  to  cut  off  their  forests  might  as 
well  stop  and  cipher  a  little. 

And  while  I  am  talking  of  trees  as  a  shelter  for  old 
age,  I  want  to  say  a  good  word  for  orchards,  apples,  and 
indeed  fruits  of  all  kinds.  I  waked  up  to  planting  apple 
trees  when  I  was  young,  and  I  think  I  have  now  about  as 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

good  an  orchard  as  there  is  in  town.  With  the  low  price 
of  fruit  this  last  year,  it  has  brought  me  in  over  three 
hundred  dollars,  sold  on  the  trees  to  the  buyer.  I  only 
regret  that  I  had  not  begun  to  plant  pear  trees  sooner. 
They  are  quite  as  hardy  as  apples,  yield  as  well,  and  sell 
for  more  than  double.  A  man  with  a  dozen  acres  in  pears, 
of  the  right  kinds,  would  have  a  comfortable  income  for 
old  age,  if  he  had  nothing  else.  But  aside  from  profit,  a 
plenty  of  fruit  in  the  family  is  a  great  comfort  and  luxury, 
and  an  important  means  of  health.  We  have  seen  very 
little  of  the  doctor  in  forty  years,  and  we  have  had  fruit 
in  some  -shape  every  day  in  the  year.  Put  these  two 
things  together :  long-lived  people  eat  much  fruit. 

Perhaps  we  don't  live  quite  so  well  out  here  on  the 
farm  as  some  of  the  nabobs  in  the  city,  though  about  that 
there  is  room  for  a  difference  of  opinion.  All  the  raw  ma 
terials  of  their  extra  fixings  come  from  the  farm — poultry, 
eggs,  rnilk,  cream,  butter  and  cheese,  and  the  fine  fruits. 
They  have  better  cooks,  perhaps,  though  some  of  us  out 
here  have  things  about  as  nice,  in  that  line,  as  it  is  safe 
for  sinners  to  enjoy.  I  should  be  loth  to  swap  my  cook 
for  the  best  you  have  got  in  your  biggest  hotel.  When 
Mrs.  Bunker  gets  on  her  checked  apron  and  spectacles, 
and  lays  herself  out  on  a  soup  or  a  roast,  you  see,  com 
mon  cooks  might  as  well  retire. 

In  the  matter  of  dress,  we  in  the  country  are  not  quite 
so  independent  as  we  used  to  be,  when  there  was  a  spinning 
wheel  and  a  loom  in  every  house,  and  men  wore  the  linen 
and  woolen  made  at  home,  because  they  had  nothing  else. 
But  we  clothe  ourselves  easier  now,  for  we  can  buy  cloth 
a  great  deal  cheaper  than  we  can  make  it.  But  if  the 
war  continues,  and  prices  keep  going  up,  we  may  have  to 
go  back  to  homespun  again,  and  then  I  guess  the  old  folks 
will  be  about  as  independent  as  any  body,  for  we  know 
how  to  use  the  spinning  wheel  and  loom.  But  that  day 
is  some  ways  off,  I  guess,  judging  fi  om  the  finery  we  see 


226  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

in  the  Hookertown  meeting-house  on  Sunday.  That  two- 
story  bonnet  of  Miss  Alineda  Georgiana  Bottom  has  done 
the  work  for  our  young  women.  They  tittered  at  it  at 
first,  but  it  was  no  use  laughing  at  the  fashions.  They 
had  to  cave  in,  and  the  meeting-house  on  Sunday  now 
looks  like  a  big  flower  garden.  The  old  ladies  who  were 
freest  in  their  remarks,  I  notice  have  bonnets  as  high  as 
the  h'ghest.  I  suppose  I  should  not  have  said  so,  but  I 
couldn't  help  asking  Mrs.  Bunker,  as  we  started  for  meet 
ing,  if  she  would  have  the  carriage  top  let  down. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  Feb.  20th,  1863. 


No.  65.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  SHEEP  TRAPS. 


"  What  upon  airth  d'ye  call  that  ?"  asked  Uncle  Jotham 
Sparrowgrass,  as  he  hailed  Seth  Twiggs  in  the  street,  this 
morning.  Seth  had  a  gun  over  his  shoulder,  and  held  in 
his  hand  what  might  have  been  mistaken  for  game,  at  a 
short  distance.  On  closer  examination,  the  object  reveal 
ed  a  pair  of  short  ears,  a  prominent  nose,  a  long,  clean 
pair  of  jaws,  well  armed  with  sharp,  bloody  teeth.  It 
was  what  is  left  of  a  dog  after  his  tail  has  been  cut  off 
just  behind  his  ears. 

"  That  is  what  I  call  a  sheep  trap,"  said  Seth,  as  he  flung 
the  head  upon  the  grass,  pulled  his  pipe  out  of  one  pocket, 
and  a  match  out  of  the  other,  and  lighted. 

"  Why,  that  is  Jake  Frink's  dog ! "  exclaimed  Uncle 
Jotham. 

"  Taint  Jake's  any  longer,"  replied  Seth.     "  Ye  see,  I 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  227 

caught  him  in  the  act,  this  morning  airly.  He  was  gnaw 
ing  away  at  a  sheep  he  had  run  down,  and  that  is  sheep's 
blood  you  see  on  his  teeth  now.  I  put  that  bullet  between 
his  eyes,  and  he  hadn't  time  to  clean  his  teeth  before  he 
emigrated  to  t'other  country.  That  trap  has  caught  three 
sheep  of  mine  this  spring,  besides  lots  of  my  neighbors',  to 
say  nothing  of  the  lambs ;  and  I  was  so  afraid  the  trap 
might  be  set  again  that  I  jest  cut  his  head  off  after  I  shot 
him,  to  make  sure  work  of  it.  That  critter  has  destroyed 
a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  property  this  spring,  I  haven't 
a  doubt.  Sheep  have  been  found  dead,  and  badly  maim 
ed,  and  he  has  been  seen  chasing  them.  When  complaint 
has  been  made  to  Jake,  he  could  not  believe  he  was  guilty 
of  even  chasing  sheep.  He  did  not  allow  him  in  such 
tricks.  His  dog  was  as  innocent  as  a  lamb.  Children 
could  play  with  him,  and  he  wouldn't  even  growl.  To 
hear  Jake  talk,  you  would  think  the  dog's  mother  must 
have  been  a  sheep.  Waal,  now,  ye  see,  that  talk  didn't 
go  down  with  me.  *  I  can  tell  a  sheep  stealin  dog  as  soon 
as  I  lay  my  eye  on  him.  There  is  a  kind  of  guilty  look 
about  the  critter,  that  says  mutton,  as  if  it  stuck  in  his 
jaws.  Jake  has  never  been  able  to  raise  sheep.  If  he 
tried,  his  lambs  disappeared  mysteriously  when  that  dog 
was  a  puppy.  He  always  laid  it  to  other  folks'  dogs. 
But  Rover  was  the  guilty  wretch  that  drunk  lambs'  blood. 
I  have  been  watching  him  for  about  a  week,  and  ye  see 
this  morning  I  got  him  jest  where  I  wanted  him.  There 
was  a  piece  of  mutton  in  his  mouth  when  I  fired.  It  will 
take  a  smarter  man  than  Jake  Frink  to  get  away  from 
that  fact." 

"I  guess  you'll  catch  it  when  Jake  hears  of  it." 
"  He  won't  have  to  wait  long,  for  I  am  going  to  take 
home  Jake's  sheep  trap  this  morning.  I  wouldn't  have 
you  think  that  I'd  shoot  a  man's  dog,  and  then  not  own 
it.  That  would  be  too  much  like  a  sheep  stealing  dog.  I 
calculate  to  take  the  responsibility." 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

This  conversation  of  my  neighbors  shows  the  way  the 
current  is  setting,  on  the  dog  question,  and  the  progress 
the  reform  is  making,  under  the  new  laws,  and  especially 
under  the  high  prices  of  wool  and  mutton.  This  last,  I 
think,  has  more  to  do  with  dog  killing,  than  all  the  laws 
that  have  been  enacted.  With  wool  at  a  dollar  a  pound 
or  in  that  neighborhood,  every  body  that  owns  land  wants 
a  few  sheep.  Even  Jake  Frink  rubs  his  eyes  and  wakes 
up  to  the  fact  that  sheep  raising  will  be  a  profitable  busi 
ness.  Sheep  will  live  and  do  well  on  his  poor  pastures 
w^here  his  cows  grow  poor.  He  will  bluster,  of  course, 
when  he  learns  that  his  dog  is  killed,  but  he  will  be  re 
signed  and  conclude  that  his  sheep  as  well  as  his  neigh 
bors'  will  be  safer  with  that  sheep  trap  out  of  the  way. 
A  large  number  of  poor  farmers,  and  rather  poor  citizens, 
who  have  the  dog  mania,  will  invest  in  sheep,  and  that  will 
make  them  the  natural  enemies  of  dogs.  I  have  noticed 
that  it  makes  a  mighty  deal  of  difference  whether  it  is 
your  sheep  or  your  neighbors'  that  are  bitten  or  killed. 
Resignation  is  a  virtue  easily  practised  when  a  pack  of 
dogs  get  into  your  neighbor's  flock,  and  worry  and  slay. 
But  Avhen  you  go  out  some  fine  morning  and  find  your 
fattest  wether  half  eaten  up,  or  your  full  blood  merinos 
made  into  mutton  prematurely,  it  stirs  the  blood  at  once 
against  dogs.  You  owe  the  whole  race  a  grudge.  You 
think  of  steel  traps,  bullets,  and  small  stout  cords  in  close 
proximity  to  dogs'  necks.  You  talk  fiercely  and  threaten 
vengeance.  Men  in  such  a  humor  are  prepared  to  legis 
late  rationally  upon  the  dog  question.  They  see  very 
clearly  that  one  vile  cur,  not  worth  a  copper  to  any  body, 
may  easily  destroy  a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  their  prop 
erty  in  a  single  night.  With  sheep  at  two  or  three  times 
the  old  prices  we  shall  not  only  have  good  dog  laws,  but 
we  shall  have  men  that  will  execute  the  laws,  and  the 
dogs  at  the  same  time.  The  old  arguments  on  this  question 
are  just  as  good  as  any  new  ones  that  can  be  brought  for- 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPERS.  229 

ward,  but  men  see  them  a  great  deal  better.  A  sheep  is 
a  creature  of  consequence,  just  about  three  times  bigger 
than  it  was  two  years  ago.  The  dogs  have  grown  small, 
and  a  multitude  of  them  have  grown  out  of  sight  entirely. 

There  used  to  be  a  dog  on  about  every  corner  of  the 
streets  in  Hookertown.  Some  families  kept  a  half  dozen, 
and  they  had  a  tight  match  to  get  enough  for  their  children 
to  eat,  too.  Now  they  are  getting  scarce,  and  I  am  in 
hopes  that  the  time  is  not  distant  when  they  will  be  con 
fined  to  cages,  and  shown  up  as  curiosities  at  Barnum's. 
It  does  my  eyes  good  to  see  children  and  lambs  fat  and 
happy,  and  dogs  lean  and  miserable.  Fat  dogs  indicate 
a  low  civilization  like  the  Chinese,  or  a  low  state  of  morals 
like  the  White  Oaks,  where  the  dogs  are  more  numerous 
than  the  people. 

I  have  hated  dogs  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  My  father 
kept  sheep  and  was  a  lover  of  choice  mutton,  and  chose 
to  do  his  own  butchering,  in  a  humane  and  decent  man 
ner.  I  remember  an  old  ewe  with  twin  lambs,  a  cosset 
who  came  home  with  the  cows  to  be  petted  and  cared  for 
as  if  she  were  a  member  of  the  family.  One  morning  she 
was  found  dreadfully  torn  by  the  dogs,  just  alive,  but  un 
able  to  move  and  her  lambs  missing.  I  have  hated  the 
sight  of  a  dog  ever  since,  and  never  pass  one  in  the  street 
without  an  apprehension  of  a  bite,  and  a  great  longing  to 
brain  him  on  the  spot.  Seth  Twiggs  has  given  them  the 
right  name,  "  Sheep  Traps." 

And  the  morality  of  keeping  a  sheep-killing  dog  is  on  a 
par  with  that  of  a  malicious  neighbor  who  should  set 
steel  traps  In  the  sheep  walks  of  your  pasture.  I  would 
much  rather  have  steel  traps  than  the  dogs.  The  trap 
would  be  certain  to  dispose  of  only  one  sheep  in  a  night, 
while  the  dog  might  kill  or  maim  a,  dozen.  The  trap  and 
the  victim  would  be  found  together  in  the  morning,  and 
the  mystery  of  the  broken  leg  would  be  cleared  up.  But 
your  cowardly,  sneaking  dog  does  his  work  by  night  and 


230  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

is  miles  away  in  the  morning,  with  his  chops  all  licked, 
and  lying  by  his  master's  door,  as  meek  looking  as  if  he 
never  dreamed  of  mutton.  The  owner  of  a  steel  trap  is  a 
responsible  being,  but  the  owner  of  a  dog  seems  to  think 
that  his  brute  is  what  Mr.  Spooner  would  call  a  free  moral 
agent,  fit  to  do  business  on  his  own  hook.  He  is  not  ac 
countable  for  the  deeds  of  his  dog.  I  go  in  for  trapping 
rats,  skunks,  foxes,  weasels,  and  other  vermin.  If  we 
must  trap  sheep  and  lambs,  I  prefer  an  article  with  steel 
springs  and  chain,  to  a  pair  of  living  jaws  on  four  legs. 
The  latter  catches  too  much  game. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  May  10th,  1863. 


• 

NO.  66.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  OLD  STYLE  HOUSE- 
KEEPING. 


It  was  a  rainy  morning  in  August ;  I  had  five  tons  of 
hay  down,  and  it  was  "  morally  certain,"  as  Mr.  Spooner 
says,  when  he  is  putting  a  thing  strong,  that  I  shouldn't 
have  any  hay  weather,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  set 
in  the  house,  and  see  things  grow.  There  is  a  great  satis 
faction  in  that,  and  blessed  is  that  man  who  has  his  fields 
and  meadows  where  he  can  see  them  from  his  window.  I 
have  seen  some  rather  handsome  pictures  down  in  your 
city  in  the  Academy,  and  other  places,  but  there  are  none 
to  compare  with  the  view  from  my  dining-room  window. 
There  lies  spread  out  before  me,  the  horse-pond  lot,  all 
nicely  mowed,  and  looking  as  smooth  as  Mr.  Olrnstead's 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  231 

lawns  in  your  Central  Park  that  you  think  so  much  of; 
and  just  beyond,  a  four-acre  field  of  corn,  in  full  tassel 
and  spindle ;  and  beyond  that,  a  side  hill  covered  with 
wood  and  rocks,  and  a  little  to  the  right  hand,  a  glimpse 
of  the  sea  covered  with  sails.  There  is  a  pasture  dotted 
with  cattle  and  sheep,  that  beat  anything  I  ever  saw  on 
canvass.  It  don't  cost  half  so  much  to  build  a  house 
with  the  picture  gallery  outside  as  it  does  to  have  it  with 
in,  and  then  you  are  never  pinched  for  room,  and  it  costs 
nothing  to  have  your  pictures  retouched,  and  the  frames 
regilded.  It  is  a  source  of  endless  entertainment  and  in 
struction  to  study  this  out-door  picture  gallery,  and  rainy 
days  give  us  the  leisure,  and  a  new  light  to  see  them  in. 

Mrs.  Bunker  had  got  her  cheese  in  the  press,  and  the 
milk  things  washed  up,  and  things  put  to  rights  generally, 
when  I  saw  her  overhauling  a  bundle  of  old  yellow  papers 
that  looked  as  if  they  were  a  hundred  years  old.  One  of 
them  was  an  old  account  book  of  her  grandfather's,  made 
by  doubling  a  sheet  of  foolscap  twice,  and  sewing  it  to 
gether.  The  thread  is  stout  linen,  such  as  her  grand 
mother  used  to  spin  on  the  linen  wheel. 

"  Now,"  says  she,  "  Timothy,  I  like  to  look  over  these 
things  and  see  how  differently  folks  live  now,  from  what 
they  used  to  when  my  mother  was  a  girl.  Here  is  the 
account  of  my  mother's  '  setting  out  in  life '  when  she  was 
married,  in  the  handwriting  of  my  grandfather,  Amos 
Dogett." 

"  When  was  that  ?"  I  asked. 

She  read  from  the  manuscript:  "Our  oldest  daughter 
Sally  was  married  to  John  Walton  Jan.  ye  29th,  1784." 

"That  was  jnst  after  the  war  of  Independence." 

She  continued  "  Things  that  I  let  my  daughter  have 
was  one  horse,  10  pound,  one  new  side-saddle  and  bridle,  5 
pound."  "  Horse-flesh  was  pretty  cheap  then,"  I  remarked. 
"  Reckoning  the  pound  at  three  dollars  and  a  third,  which 
was  its  value  in  the  New  England  -States,  it  would  make 


232  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

the  horse  worth  only  thirty-three  dollars  and  a  third,  and 
the  saddle  and  bridle  half  as  much — which  is  only  about 
one-quarter  of  the  price  of  good  sound  horses  in  Hooker- 
town  to-day.  Side-saddles  have  not  fall  en  off  much.  They 
were  a  good  deal  in  demand  then,  and  not  much  now. 
You  see  Mrs.  John  Walton,  bride,  had  no  other  way  to 
get  to  her  new  home  but  on  horseback,  and  all  other 
brides,  and  damsels  in  general,  had  either  to  try  the 
saddle  or  go  on  foot.  Happy  wa»  that  damsel  who.  could 
boast  of  a  horse  on  her  wedding  day." 

Immediately  following  the  saddle  was  the  entry  of  "  one 
pot,  8  shillings,  one  small  iron  kettle,  6  shillings,  one  iron 
spider,  4  shillings,  one  pair  of  flats."  It  would  seem  from 
this  that  Mrs.  Walton  was  expected  to  cook  her  husband's 
dinner,  and  to  iron  the  clothes.  Mrs.  Bunker  says  she 
was  a  capital  cook  and  laundress.  I  think  it  must  run  in 
the  blood.  I  have  no  doubt  I  am  indebted  to  that  pot 
and  spider  for  all  the  good  dinners  I  have  eaten  under 
my  own  roof. 

Then  follows,  in  the  bridal  outfit,  "  two  candle  sticks, 
two  shillings."  These  must  have  been  iron,  such  as  went 
out  of  date  about  the  time  I  was  a  boy.  The  bottoms  of 
the  dilapitated  sticks  used  to  figure  on  butchering  day,  in 
scraping  off  the  hair  from  hogs,  and  nothing  better  has 
been  invented  since.  Then  follows  "  one  case  of  knives, 
one  fire  shovel,  one  large  iron  kettle,  one  teapot,  one  tea 
kettle,  one  trammel."  Then  for  personal  adornment  the 
bride  had  "  one  gauze  handkerchief,  3  shillings  sixpence, 
one  pair  of  gloves,  same  price,  one  pair  of  English  shoes, 
6  shillings,  one  pound  of  whalebone,  and  four  and  a  half 
yard  moreen  for  a  skirt,"  which  shows  what  the  whalebone 
was  intended  for.  Our  grandmothers  probably  split  their 
own  whale-bone,  and  never  dreamed  of  steel  hoop  skirts. 

The  fitting  out  of  the  bridal  chamber  was  "  one  feather 
bed,  4  pound  10  shillings,  two  under  beds,  1  pound  1  shil 
ling,  four  pairs  of  sheets,  two  coverlids,  two  fulled  blankets, 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  233 

one  chest  and  lock,  and  one  looking-glass,  and  one  paper 
of  pins."  There  was  no  wash-stand  with  bowl  and 
pitcher,  soap-dish,  and  mugs,  towel-rack,  and  other  indis 
pensable  articles  in  a  modern  bed-chamber.  The  morning 
ablutions  were  probably  made  in  the  kitchen,  or  at  the 
back  door  from  a  stone  hollowed  out  for  the  purpose. 
Possibly  they  kept  as  clean  as  those  who  have  better 
facilities  for  washing. 

The  table  furniture  was  rather  meager, — one  set  of  tea 
cups,  nine  plates,  four  platters,  half  a  dozen  spoons,  half  a 
dozen  teaspoons,  two  basins,  two  porringers.  There  is 
nothing  said  of  table  linen,  and  probably  Mrs.  John  Wal 
ton  was  in  the  hight  of  fashion,  not  only  at  tea,  but  at 
every  meal,  eating  from  a  bare  board.  This,  I  mistrust, 
was  not  mahogany  or  black  walnut  oiled,  but  plain  pine 
or  maple,  which  was  scrubbed  daily  for  the  whole  term 
of  her  natural  life. 

A  significant  entry  was  "  one  little  wheel,  one  pound." 
This  was  the  linen  wheel  on  which  all  the  sewing  thread 
was  spun,  and  the  fine  linen  for  shirts  and  sheets,  and 
other  articles  for  the  bed,  and  for  the  person.  There  was 
also  "  one  set  of  loom  irons,  3  shillings."  John  was  ex 
pected  to  make  the  loom  himself.  Fortunately  it  con 
sisted  mainly  of  wood,  and  the  framing  was  not  difficult. 
This  brings*  back  the  good  old  days  of  homespun.  In 
that  loom  was  woven  all  the  clothing,  woolen  and  linen, 
of  herself,  husband  and  children,  for  a  whole  generation. 
What  visions  of  solid  work  and  happiness  the  loom  and 
wheel  open  to  us  ! 

We  find  also  among  the  bridal  items  "  hard  money  for 
to  buy  a  cow  with,  5  pounds  8  shillings."  The  hard 
money  indicates  the  abundance  of  paper  currency  at  the 
close  of  the  war.  The  price  of  cows  was  relatively  much 
higher  than  the  price  of  horses.  Twice  the  sum  would 
now  buy  a  very  good  cow.  That  cow  laid  the  foundation 
of  John  Walton's  fortune.  His  wife  understood  the  mys- 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

teries  of  the  dairy,  and  the  one  cow  grew  in  a  few  years 
into  a  herd  of  thirty,  and  the  Walton  butter  and.  cheese 
became  famous. 

The  whole  outfit  foots  up  forty-four  pounds  nineteen 
shillings  sixpence,  or  less  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  dol 
lars.  That  stocked  a  housekeeper  in  1784,  and  probably 
she  was  better  off  than  most  of  her  neighbors.  The 
whole  would  not  equal  the  cost  of  the  piano  now  in  many 
a  farmer's  parlor. 

"  The  tea  set  that  Dea.  Smith  gave  Eliza  at  her  wedding 
cost  $200,"  added  Mrs.  Bunker. 

"  I  know  it ;  and  the  rest  of  the  presents  were  worth  a 
thousand  dollars,  to  say  nothing  of  the  furnished  house 
into  which  she  entered  when  she  got  back  from  the  bridal 
trip." 

"  A  single  looking-glass  costing  eight  shillings,  and  a 
mirror  covering  half  the  side  of  a  parlor,  and  costing 
three  hundred  dollars,  is  another  contrast  worth  looking 
at,"  said  Sally. 

"And  the  young  brides  that  prink  before  them  are  no 
handsomer  or  smarter  than  Sally  Walton's  daughter  forty 
years  ago."  "  It  is  time  you  forgot  that,  Timothy.  It  is 
a  long  while  ago." 

Here  the  dinner  bell  rung  and  the  dingy  account  book 
was  returned  to  its  place  in  the  bundle. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Aug.  10th,  1863. 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPERS.  2o5 

67.— TIM  BUNKER   ON  KEEPING  A  WIFE 
COMFORTABLE. 


"  How  long  have  we  got  to  wait  for  dinner,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?"  said  Jake  Frink  to  his  wife  Polly,  one  day 
in  hoeing  time.  "  Its  tu  bad  to  keep  three  men  waitin'  an 
hour  for  their  grub." 

"  You've  got  to  wait  till  the  brush  is  cooked,  with 
which  to  cook  your  dinner,"  said  Aunt  Polly  snappishly. 
"  None  but  a  greenhorn  would  furnish  green  wood  for 
his  wife  to  cook  with — and  green  brush  at  that.  You 
know,  Jake  Frink,  that  you  have  never  had  a  second  cord 
of  wood  at  your  door  any  time  since  I  have  lived  with 
you,  and  that  is  going  on  seven  and  thirty  years.  All 
that  time  green  brush  has  been  the  chief  article  of  kind 
ling.  One  might  think  that  your  whole  farm  was  a  brush 
pasture  teetotally.  I  should  like  to  have  you  try  cooking 
with  green  wood  a  little  while,  and  see  how  you  would 
like  it." 

"  Wall,  Polly,  hurry  up  any  way,"  said  Jake,  "  for  we 
are  all  mighty  hungry,  and  the  corn  wants  hoeing  badly. 
You  see,  brush  is  economical,  and  what  I  can't  sell  at  the 
store,  I  can  use  at  home.  It  would  kind  o'  rot  on  the 
ground  ef  I  dident  burn  it  up." 

"  Pretty  economy  it  is,  to  keep  your  wife  in  a  stew  all 
the  while,  and  hired  men  a  waiting  hours  every  day  be 
cause  green  wood  wont  burn  !  It  is  smoke,  siss,  and  fiz 
zle,  from  morning  to  night,  and  I  no  sooner  get  a  blaze 
agoing,  than  I  have  to  put  on  more  green  wood,  and  then 
there  is  another  sputter.  I  never  see  such  a  house  as  this 
is,"  said  Aunt  Polly,  with  great  emphasis,  and  with  a 
face  as  red  as  a  beet. 

Jake  is  a  great  sinner,  although  he  thinks  he  is  so  good 


236  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAVERS. 

that  he  does  not  need  to  go  to  meeting  and  hear  Mr. 
Spooner  preach.  He  would  try  the  temper  of  a  much 
more  saintly  woman  than  Aunt  Polly,  and  keep  her  on  the 
rack.  He  might  just  as  well  put  red  pepper  in  her  eyes, 
as  to  keep  her  kitchen  always  smoked  up  with  green 
brush.  Her  eyes  always  look  red,  and  it  is  nothing  under 
the  sun  but  that  smoky  kitchen.  The  draft  of  the  chim 
ney  is  none  of  the  best,  but  that  would  be  remedied  with 
well-seasoned  wood.  Now,  you  see,  that  man  had  Chris 
tian  marriage,  but  he  don't  care  no  more  for  his  wife  than 
for  a  dumb  animal.  I  guess  he  would  lift  a  sheep  out  of 
the  ditch,  especially  in  these  times,  when  wool  is  a  dollar 
a  pound.  But  he  keeps  his  wife  in  the  ditch  about  all  the 
while,  and  never  suspects  that  she  is  a  bit  uncomfortable. 
He  thinks  he  saves  something  by  burning  brush,  but  it 
don't  pay  unless  you  have  a  machine  to  chop  it  up  fine, 
and  keep  it  under  cover  until  it  gets  dry.  To  work  it  up 
with  the  axe  into  fuel  for  a  stove,  it  costs  more  than  it  is 
worth.  If  it  lies  on  the  ground  in  the  woods,  it  rots  and 
makes  good  manure  without  any  expense.  Then  if  you 
have  it,  or  any  other  wood,  green,  there  is  a  matter  of  un 
certainty  about  meals,  which  throws  the  whole  work  of 
the  farm  into  confusion,  and  puts  every  body  out  of 
humor. 

But  this  is  only  one  way  in  which  a  wife  is  kept  uncom 
fortable.  It  does  seem  as  if  some  men  took  less  care  of 
their  waives  than  of  the  dumb  cattle  in  their  fields.  If  the 
rooms  in  their  houses  had  been  thrown  together  by 
chance,  they  could  not  have  been  more  inconvenient.  A 
good  arrangement  of  the  rooms  saves  one-half  the  labor. 
Some  times  the  sleeping  room  is  on  the  second  floor,  and 
there  is  many  a  journey  up  and  down  stairs  during  the 
day  for  a  woman  already  overburdened  with  care.  Some 
times  the  store  room  is  in  the  garret,  and  other  journeys 
have  to  be  made  daily,  for  supplies  for  the  table.  Every 
thing  that  she  needs  for  her  work  should  be  upon  the  first 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  237 

floor,  and  close  at  hand.  There  is  no  unnecessary  waste 
of  strength  then  in  filling-  her  place  as  housekeeper,  cook, 
dairy  maid,  laundress,  wife  and  mother ;  for  many  a  farm 
er's  wife  is  expected  to  fill  all  these  offices,  and  to  be  al 
ways  cheerful  and  happy,  waiting  for  the  coming  of  her 
liege  lord,  as  if  she  had  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  be  a 
wife. 

The  lot  of  a  farmer's  wife,  as  it  generally  runs,  is  rather 
a  hard  one,  and  is  made  hard  very  often  from  the  want  of 
attention  to  little  things.  If  a  man  needs  twenty  cords 
of  wood  for  the  year,  it  costs  no  more  to  get  it  in  the 
winter,  in  a  time  of  leisure,  and  to  have  it  chopped,  split, 
and  packed  under  cover,  than  to  get  it,  a  load  at  a  time, 
and  have  the  torment  of  a  slow  fire  all*  the  while.  This 
not  only  makes  more  labor,  but  it  frets  and  worries,  which 
is  a  good  deal  worse  than  work.  Dry  wood  is  one  of  the 
secrets  of  a  comfortable  wife.  That  is  what  makes  Mrs. 
Bunker  so  hale  and  handsome,  past  sixty.  She  says  she 
wouldn't  know  how  to  keep  house  without  dry  wood.  I 
guess  she  wouldn't,  for  she  has  never  had  any  thing  else. 

Deacon  Smith  is  a  good  man  and  means  well,  but  he 
does  not  know  how  to  use  a  wife.  His  well  has  hard 
water,  that  wont  wash,  and  all  the  water  on  washing  day 
has  to  be  brought  from  the  brook,  more  than  forty  rods 
from  the  house.  To  be  sure  he  keeps  a  servant,  but  it 
makes  a  world  of  work  for  servant  and  housekeeper.  He 
might  have  a  cistern  that  wouldn't  cost  twenty  dollars, 
and  it  would  save  more  than  that  value  of  labor  every 
year.  He  has  roofing  enough  to  keep  it  supplied  with 
water  all  the  while.  And  then  the  Deacon  carries  on  a 
large  farm  and  keeps  a  half  dozen  hired  men,  and  boards 
and  lodges  them  all  in  his  own  house.  Now  what  a  bur 
den  this  brings  upon  a  woman,  when  they  might  be  much 
better  accommodated  in  small  farm-houses  of  their  own. 
It  is  quite  as  easy  to  hire  a  part  of  the  labor  needed  on 
the  farm  from  those  married,  as  from  those  who  have  no 


238  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

homes  of  their  own.  This  leaves  a  farmer's  wife  with  no 
family  but  her  own  to  attend  to,  which  is  much  more 
pleasant. 

Then  I  guess  a  man  has  to  do  something  to  himself  as 
well  as  to  his  house,  to  make  every  thing  go  smooth  with 
his  wife.  She  bargained  for  a  man  when  she  got  married, 
and  she  has  a  right  to  be  disappointed,  if  she  finds  she  has 
nothing  but  a  working  animal  always  jaded  and  unfit  for 
social  life.  I  know  of  some  farmers  who  rarely  go  any 
where  but  to  meeting  and  to  market.  They  feel  that  they 
can  not  afford  the  time  to  dress  up  and  go  and  see  their 
friends,  and  dine  or  take  a  cup  of  tea.  They  have  so  slid 
out  of  society  that  their  friends  rarely  come  to  see  them. 
They  are  so  hurried  with  work  that  they  do  not  make 
friends  very  welcome.  They  seem  to  have  no  appreciation 
of  life,  but  as  an  opportunity  to  make  money.  They  prize 
work  for  this  end,  and  time  that  isn't  turned  into  money 
is  lost  to  them.  Their  muscles  not  only  become  hard,  but 
their  hearts  grow  hard  and  unsympathizing.  They  lose 
their  taste  for  reading,  if  they  ever  had  it,  and  very  soon 
fall  asleep  if  they  attempt  to  read  or  hear  reading.  If 
they  are  active  in  the  field,  they  are  stupid  and  dull  in  the 
house,  like  tired  animals  in  their  stalls.  There  is  no  men 
tal  growth,  no  development  of  manhood  in  their  lives. 
This  discovery  I  think  makes  a  woman  more  uncomfort 
able  than  green  wood  and  smoky  fires.  She  married  a 
man — a  creature  of  intelligence  and  affections — and  she 
has  the  right  to  the  companionship  of  a  man  while  she 
remains  a  faithful  wife.  No  man  has  a  right  to  prostitute 
himself  to  mere  money  getting,  no  matter  how  honestly, 
or  to  turn  all  the  energies  of  his  being  to  muscular  exer 
tion.  Manhood  is  the  most  precious  product  of  his  farm, 
and  whatever  else  suffers,  that  ought  to  be  kept  strong 
and  vigorous.  That  article  has  become  mighty  scarce  on 
Jake  Frink's  premises,  and  it  is  this  fact  that  makes  the 
green  wood  so  very  green,  and  the  smoke  so  trying  to 


THE    TIM    BU.NKKK    PAPEKS.  229 

Aunt  Polly's  eyes.  Poor  woman  !  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
there  was  something  else  in  them  besides  smoke  some 
times. 

Yours  to  command, 
^  TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown ,  June  6th,  1863. 


NO.  68.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  STARTING  A  SUGAR 
MILL. 


"  Who'd  have  thought  of  ever  seeing  a  sugar  mill  in 
Hookertown !"  exclaimed  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  looked  at 
that  new  institution  just  put  up  on  the  Shadtown  road. 

"  And  such  lots  of  sorghum  too !"  said  Deacon  Smith. 
"  Almost  every  farmer  has  a  patch." 

"  The  age  of  meracles  ain't  past  yet,"  said  Tucker  in  a 
meditative  mood. 

"  I  wonder  if  there  '11  be  any  rum  made  of  the  leavings," 
inquired  Jones  expectantly,  recalling  his  experience  on  a 
sugar  plantation. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Seth,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye 
and  an  extra  puff  at  his  pipe.  "  Suckers  will  go  dry 
in  these  parts." 

Ten  years  ago,  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  seeing 
an  elephant  in  my  barn-yard,  as  of  seeing  a  sugar  mill  in 
Hookertown.  In  the  first  place  there  was  nothing  to 
make  sugar  of,  except  a  few  maple  trees,  and  they  did  not 
require  a  mill.  And  then  there  was  not  enterprise  enough 
to  start  a  new  project  of  that  magnitude.  We  most  of 
us  believe  in  foreordination,  and  had  not  put  down  sugar 


240  THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPERS. 

making  as  among  the  things  that  were  destined  for  Hook- 
ertown.  We  expected  always  to  get  our  sweetening  by 
barter,  just  as  our  fathers  and  mothers  did  before  us — a 
pound  of  cheese  for  a  pound  of  sugar,  and  brown  sugar  at 
that.  We  expected,  too,  to  eat  a  slava^rown  article  be 
cause  we  could  not  get  any  other.  But  they  say  they  are 
getting  off  the  notion  of  forced  labor  on  the  sugar  planta 
tions  in  Louisiana,  and  I  suppose  when  the  Fates  got  to 
making  a  change,  they  thought  they  might  as  well  make 
a  change  all  around,  and  have  free  sugar  North  and  South. 
At  any  rate  it  is  a  settled  fact  that  we  have  a  sugar  mill, 
where  they  are  going  to  make  molasses  this  fall,  and 
where  they  may  make  sugar  by  and  by.  I  suppose  half 
the  farmers  in  town  won't  pay  a  dollar  for  sweetening 
next  year,  and  some  will  have  a  few  barrels  of  syrup  to 
sell.  The  world  moves,  notwithstanding  the  war,  and  I 
am  not  sure  but  the  war  has  given  a  good  many  enter 
prises  a  new  hoist.  You  see,  it  has  made  sugar  and  molas 
ses  dear,  and  that  has  set  Yankee  wit  at  work  to  get  these 
things  out  of  our  own  soil.  In  raising  sugar  at  the  North, 
it  makes  a  great  deal  of  difference  whether  that  article  is 
eight  cents  or  sixteen  cents  a  pound. 

We  have  been  getting  ready  for  this  business  some 
years.  The  seed  sent  out  from  the  Agriculturist  office 
introduced  the  plant,  and  taught  us  that  we  could  grow  it 
as  well  as  corn.  Jake  Frink  could  see  that  it  looked 
like  broom-corn,  and  was  no  humbug.  It  would  pay  to 
raise  it  for  fodder  for  cattle,  and  hogs  ate  it  greedily,  and 
would  thrive  upon  it  wonderfully  well.  There  was  no 
chance  to  lose  much.  Some  made  syrup  from  it,  the  first 
year,  and  put  it  up  in  bottles,  and  exhibited  it  at  the 
county  fair.  It  looked  like  syrup,  tasted  like  it,  and  went 
well  on  buckwheat  cakes.  But  we  had  no  mill  to  grind 
the  cane,  and  no  conveniences  for  boiling  down  the  juice, 
and  that  was  the  great  objection  to  going  into  the  busi 
ness. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  241 

Last  winter  we  talked  the  matter  up  in  the  Farmers' 
Club.  Men  in  whose  judgment  we  had  confidence  said 
the  thing  would  pay.  Mr.  Spooner,  who  is  ready  for 
every  good  word  and  work,  said  there  was  no  good  reason 
why  we  should  not  make  our  own  sweetening  at  home ; 
that  the  farmers  in  the  town  paid  out  twenty  thousand 
dollars  every  year  for  this  article,  and  they  might  just  as 
well  keep  that  amount  in  their  own  pockets.  Deacon 
Smith  read  extracts  from  the  agricultural  papers,  showing 
what  they  were  doing  out  West,  raising  two  and  three 
hundred  gallons  of  syrup  to  the  acre,  and  clearing  over  a 
hundred  dollars  above  working  expenses.  He  said  the 
crop  last  year  was  worth  several  millions  of  dollars,  and 
that  the  business  was  increasing  rapidly  wherever  they 
had  learned  to  make  the  syrup. 

Seth  Twiggs  said  they  had  started  a  mill  at  Smithtown, 
and  it  worked  well.  He  brought  along  several  bottles  of 
the  syrup  made  at  the  mill,  and  to  convince  the  skeptical, 
sent  it  around  for  trial.  It  was  found  that  it  made  good 
gingerbread,  it  sweetened  coffee,  and  filled  the  place  of 
molasses  completely.  After  a  fair  trial,  and  several  weeks' 
talking,  in  which  every  man  made  sure  that  the  syrup 
would  not  bite,  we  got  the  Club  up  to  the  question — 
"  Shall  Hookertown  have  a  sugar  mill  ?"  This  was  the 
name  the  thing  seemed  to  take  of  itself,  though  I  suppose 
they  will  make  nothing  but  syrup  at  present.  It  was 
agreed  that  the  syrup  was  the  thing  we  all  wanted,  and 
we  were  all  ready  to  go  into  it  if  the  thing  could  be  made 
to  pay.  Two  men  agreed  to  build  the  mill,  and  put  into 
it  every  thing  necessary  to  grind  the  cane  and  boil  the 
syrup,  if  they  could  have  cane  enough  to  make  it  an 
object.  They  wanted  three  hundred  acres  pledged. 
This,  with  what  they  raised  themselves,  they  thought 
would  make  it  a  safe  enterprise. 

To  get  the  cane  pledged  in  a  community  of  small  farm 
ers,  many  of  them  not  having  more  than  ten  acres  under 


212  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

the  plow,  was  a  good  deal  of  an  undertaking.  It  was 
agreed  to  appoint  a  committee  for  each  school  district,  to 
see  how  much  could  be  raised.  There  were  fifteen  dis 
tricts  in  the  town,  and  it  would  take  about  twenty  acres 
to  each  district.  Mr.  Spooner  took  the  matter  in  hand  in 
his  district,  and  worked  as  hard  as  any  of  us.  Some  sub 
scribed  two  acres,  and  some  a  half  acre.  We  raised  about 
three  quarters  of  the  pledges  here,  and  for  the  rest  we  had 
to  go  to  Shadtown. 

The  results  of  the  winter's  work  are,  that  we  have  a 
wonderful  increase  of  sorghum  in  all  this  region.  A  patch 
may  be  found  on  all  the  best  farms  and  on  some  of  the 
poor  ones,  and  even  in  the  gardens  of  the  mechanics.  A 
quarter  of  an  acre  of  sorghum  will  make  a  barrel  of  syrup, 
if  it  does  only  moderately  well.  We  shall  not  have  syrup 
enough  to  supply  the  town,  perhaps,  but  we  shall  give  the 
business  a  good  start,  and  wake  up  the  sleepers.  I  should 
not  think  it  strange  if  we  became  exporters  of  syrup  in  a 
few  years,  and  Connecticut  syrup  may  yet  stand  as  high 
in  the  market  as  Connecticut  River  shad.  The  mill  is  all 
up,  and  the  machinery  in,  and  they  will  be  ready  to  grind 
as  soon  as  the  cane  is  fit.  I  do  not  see  any  reason  why 
New  England  should  not  raise  its  own  molasses.  We  have 
plenty  of  unoccupied  land,  and  capital  to  invest  in  the 
crop  and  in  mills  to  manufacture  it.  All  that  is  needed 
is  a  few  individuals  in  each  town  to  talk  the  matter  up, 
and  show  how  it  can  be  done.  There  must  be  concert  of 
action,  and  then  the  whole  business  will  go  easy.  The 
sorghum  is  coming  into  favor  much  more  rapidly  than  the 
potato  did,  and  it  would  not  be  strange  if  it  wrought  as 
great  changes  in  our  husbandry. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Sept.  10th,  1863. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  243 

NO.  69.— TIM  BUNKER'S   REASONS    AGAINST 
TOBACCO 


"  Why  don't  you  use  tobacco,  and  raise  it  like  other 
people,  Squire  Bunker  ?"  asked  Seth  Twiggs  one  day  of 
me,  with  a  discharge  of  smoke  from  his  pipe  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  locomotive. 

"  Because  you  do  !"  I  replied  a  little  gruffly. 

"  Wai,  neow,  I  don't  see  the  peth  of  that,  Squire." 

"  I  do.  You  nee,  Seth,  you  and  your  farm  are  a  stand 
ing  argument  agin  tobacco.  You  are  always  smoking, 
smoking,  smoking,  and  you  have  pretty  much  smoked 
your  brains  out." 

"  You  weren't  in  any  particular  danger  on  that  pint, 
Squire." 

"  Well,  I  admit  I'm  not  so  smart  as  some  of  my  neigh 
bors,  and  it  becomes  me  to  take  care  of  what  little  brains 
I  have  got." 

11  Jest  so,"  said  Seth.     "  I  see." 

"  Your  eyesight  is  darkened  half  the  time,"  I  continued, 
"  by  that  cloud  of  smoke,  and  you  don't  know  exactly 
what  you're  about.  You  waste  time  and  money  as  well 
as  brains.  It  takes  you  about  one-half  the  time  to  load 
your  pipe,  and  the  other  half  to  smoke  it.  And  it  is  a 
great  deal  worse  since  you  have  got  them  big  Dutch 
pipes,  with  big  bowls  and  crooked  stem,  than  it  used  to 
be  when  you  had  that  old  stump  of  a  clay  pipe  that  lasted 
you  five  years.  Then  you  only  put  in  a  pinch  of  tobacco, 
and  you  had  to  stop  in  about  ten  minutes,  to  take  breath 
and  charge  anew.  But  with  these  big-bellied  things,  that 
hold  half  a  paper  of  tobacco,  you  smoke  and  smoke,  and  it 
seems  as  if  you  never  would  stop.  You  make  every  place 
blue,  where  you  go.  You  go  out  to  feed  the  pigs  in  the 
11 


244  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPEKS. 

morning,  and  it  takes  you  twice  as  long  to  do  that  chore 
as  it  used  to.  You  go  into  the  garden  to  hoe,  and  you 
pay  more  attention  to  your  pipe  than  you  do  to  your  hoe. 
You  stop  and  squirt  around  every  cabbage  as  if  it  was 
covered  with  lice,  and  you  don't  do  an  hour's  work  in  the 
whole  morning.  The  weeds  get  a  start  of  the  cabbage, 
and  your  garden  looks — well,  I  can't  compare  it  to  any 
thing  else  but  Seth  Twiggs  in  all  the  world — weedy.  You 
go  into  the  field  to  work  on  the  tobacco,  and  the  worms 
get  the  start  of  you,  arid  what  the  worms  don't  kill,  the 
weeds  smother,  so  that  your  tobacco  fields  look  worse 
than  your  garden.  I  wouldn't  have  a  man  on  my  farm 
that  used  to  tobacco,  at  half  wages.  Now  maybe  you 
can  see  that  I  don't  use  tobacco,  because  you  do." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Seth,  "  and  Parson  Spooner  couldn't 
have  said  it  better.  This  has  been  a  dreadful  season  for 
weeds." 

"  Season  !"  I  continued,  "  don't  lay  it  to  the  rainy  sea 
son.  This  thing  grows  upon  you,  and  laziness  goes  down 
into  your  bones,  as  smoke  goes  up  into  the  heavens.  You 
go  about  dreaming  you're  making  a  great  stir,  and  when 
night  comes  you  find  next  to  nothing  done.  Tobacco,  like 
wine,  is  a  mocker,  and  if  a  man  don't  want  to  be  befooled, 
he'd  better  not  touch  it.  That  is  my  opinion  on  tobacco 
as  illustrated  in  the  life  and  services  of  Seth  Twiggs,  the 
smoker." 

Then,  to  come  to  the  question  in  the  abstract,  it  is 
nasty;  there  is  no  other  word  that  just  expresses  it. 
Don't  a  man  belong  by  nature  to  the  clean  beasts,  and 
what  right  have  I  to  make  myself  a  nuisance  among  my 
kind  ?  It  is  offensive  to  every  sense.  Look  into  the 
smoking  room  of  a  hotel,  or  a  steamboat,  and  was  there 
ever  a  stable  fouler? — splashes  of  juice,  ejected  quids, 
cigar  stumps,  and  a  reek  "  that  smells  to  heaven."  Wont 
the  world  be  foul  enough  without  my  joining  the  smokers 
and  chew  ere? 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  245 

And  it  is  a  very  expensive  habit.  Your  tobacco  would 
cost  you  thirty  dollars  a  year  if  you  did  not  raise  it,  and 
if  you  take  into  account  your  losses  of  time  under  the  in 
fluence  of  the  weed,  it  costs  you  four  times  that  sum. 
You  stop  to  talk  with  a  neighbor,  and  it  makes  you  long- 
winded,  for  your  brain  is  so  befuddled  that  you  never 
know"  when  you  have  done.  Many  a  man  spends  fifty 
dollars  a  year  for  cigars,  and  if  one  has  a  good  deal  of 
company,  it  is  mighty  easy  to  use  up  a  hundred.  Your 
friend  who  smokes  never  knows  when  he  has  enough. 
He  always  wants  one  more  of  the  same  sort,  and  the 
result  is,  that  your  box  of  Havanas  is  irone  mighty  quick, 
and  you  can't  tell  how  or  where.  This  makes  quite  a  hole 
in  the  income  of  a  man  who  lives  by  his  hands,  or  by.  his 
brains.  I  have  brains  enough  to  see  that  I  can't  afford  it. 

It  is  very  bad  for  the  health.  The  doctors  are  all 
agreed  on  this,  even  those  who  use  it.  It  don't  help 
digestion.  It  don*t  save  the  teeth.  There  are  better 
ways  of  reducing  the  flesh — eating  less,  for  instance.  And 
if  the  doctors  were  not  all  agreed,  every  man  who  has  his 
eyes  open  can  see  that  no  man  has  sound  health  who  uses 
it  in  any  shape.  They  call  themselves  well,  but  have 
headaches,  indigestion,  don't  sleep  well,  are  nervous,  have 
the  fidgets,  or  some  other  complaints.  Occasionally  they 
break  down  under  paralysis.  Many  make  complete 
wrecks  of  their  bodies.  Always  life  is  shortened.  Now 
what  right  have  I  to  make  an  invalid  of  myself,  and  go 
through  life  sighing  and  groaning,  when  I  ought  to  be 
well?  It  is  worse  for  a  man's  mind  than  it  is  for  his  body. 
It  makes  him  forgetful.  He  loses  the  control  of  its  powers, 
and  can't  think  connectedly.  He  forgets  the  names  of 
persons  and  places,  his  own  plans,  and  in  short  about 
everything  except  to  smoke.  There  was  our  minister, 
the  one  we  had  before  Mr.  Spooner,  smoked  himself  out 
of  his  pulpit.  His  health  failed  and  his  sermons  failed 
worse  than  his  health.  They  were  so  foggy  that  even 


246  TITE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

Hookertown,  that  never  dismissed  a  man  before,  could 
not  stand  it  any  longer. 

Then  it  is  a  bad  thing  for  morals.  It  begets  a  great 
craving  for  stimulating  drinks,  and  very  generally  leads 
to  their  use,  and  when  a  man  gets  to  drinking,  he  is  in  a 
fair  way  to  do  almost  any  thing  else.  What  right  have  I 
to  endanger  the  morals  of  my  neighbor,  even  if  I  could 
smoke  with  entire  safety  ? 

Then  I  have  got  children  and  grandchildren,  and  I  think 
the  best  inheritance  I  can  leave  them  is  a  good  example. 
John  would  smoke  if  I  did,  and  I  should  have  more  fears 
of  his  pipe  in  the  army,  than  from  all  the  bullets  of  the 
enemy.  If  he  dies  now,  I  am  certain  he  will  die  sober,  and 
without  one  vicious  habit.  What  right  have  I  to  pollute 
the  faces  of  my  grandchildren  with  the  stench  of  tobacco  ? 
I  want  them  to  have  pleasant  memories  of  their  grand 
father's  home  in  Hookertown,  and  I  should  not  feel  sure 
of  it,  if  I  scented  myself  and  my  house  with  tobacco. 

Then  I  am  the  husband  of  Sally  Bunker,  and  I  think  she 
has  the  right  by  marriage  vows  to  a  decent  companion  in 
life,  with  a  clean  mouth  and  shirt  bosom.  What  right 
have  I  to  make  a  nuisance  of  myself  in  her  home,  to  scent 
her  bed  with  this  unsavory  perfume,  and  to  befoul  her 
spit-boxes  with  quids  and  stumps  ?  I  am  a  little  too 
proud  to  do  that. 

And  lastly,  and  to  conclude,  as  Mr.  Spooner  would  say, 
I  expect  to  give  an  account  of  myself  hereafter,  and  if  I 
were  to  be  charged  with  the  use  of  this  weed,  I  should 
not  know  exactly  what  to  say.  That  fifty  dollars  a  year 
burnt  up  and  wasted,  I  think  would  weigh  against  me. 
If  I  gave  it  for  Sunday  schools,  or  for  any  good  cause,  I 
should  not  be  troubled  about  an  answer. 

Then  as  to  raising  this  crop,  it  is  a  bad  thing  for  the 
land,  affecting  other  crops  injuriously,  so  far  as  I  have  ob 
served.  But  if  this  were  not  so,  I  could  not  tempt  my 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

neighbor  to  use  what  I  would  not  use  myself.  When  I 
look  at  Seth  Twiggs'  farm  and  my  own,  I  like  the  con 
trast. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  November  7th,  1863. 


.  70.— TIM  BUNKER'S  TRIP  TO  WASHINGTON. 


MR.  EDITOR, — Being  a  modest  man  I  was  considerably 
surprised  when  I  saw  in  the  February  American  Agricul 
turist,  that  you  had  many  inquiries  after  my  health.  In 
deed  I  was  never  so  much  surprised  afore,  but  once,  and 
that  was  when  the  people  of  Hookertown  made  me  a  Jus 
tice  of  the  Peace — an  office  that  I  still  hold  to  the  general 
satisfaction  of  my  fellow  citizens — that  is,  if  they  don't  lie. 
I  wasn't  particularly  flattered,  however,  that  they  should 
think  that  I  had  been  sick,  as  if  an  honest  man  had  noth 
ing  to  do  in  the  world  but  to  be  sick,  or  to  write  for  the 
papers.  You  see,  I  hold  that  a  man  who  comes  into  the 
world  with  a  good  constitution,  (which,  by  the  way,  is  the 
richest  inheritance  parents  can  leave  to  their  children,) 
and  lives  temperately  and  virtuously,  has  no  business  to  be 
sick.  If  he  indulges  in  drink  and  tobacco,  late  hours,  and 
fast  living,  he  is  very  likely  to  have  fevers,  colds,  head 
aches,  and  all  "  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to."  To  hear  in 
quiries  about  my  health  looked  a  leetle  as  if  there  was 
a  suspicion  that  I  had  been  doing  something  that  I  ought 
not  to.  I  am  happy  to  say  to  your  numerous  readers,  that 
I  have  not  been  robbing  hen  roosts,  and  haven't  been 
sick. 


248  THE   TIM    BUNKER   TAPERS. 

And  to  prevent  any  anxiety  in  their  minds  in  the  future, 
in  case  I  don't  write,  I  may  as  well  say  that  I  manage  a 
farm  in  Hookertown,  and  that  is  my  business,  except  when 
I  hold  a  Justice's  Court,  or  something  of  that  kind.  A  man 
who  is  feeding  cattle,  getting  up  his  winter  stock  of  wood, 
drawing  muck  and  sea-weed,  top-dressing  meadows,  mak 
ing  compost  heaps,  relaying  wall,  and  attending  a  little  to 
the  war  and  politics,  can't  be  expected  to  write  much  for 
the  papers. 

But  last  month,  ye  see,  I  had  a  special  hindrance,  and 
the  way  it  came  about  was  jest  this.  Mrs.  Bunker  was 
sitting  by  the  fire  one  evening,  reading  the  paper,  when 
she  stopped  suddenly,  took  off  those  gold-bowed  spectacles 
that  Josiah  gave  her,  and  laid  down  the  paper,  and  says 
she,  "  Timothy,  I  want  to  go  to  Washington.  You  see  I 
have  been  knitting  and  sewing,  drying  and  brewing,  for 
the  soldiers  for  over  two  years,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
where  all  the  things  that  we  have  boxed  up  go  to.  Some 
say  there  is  an  awful  waste  of  these  things, — that  the  shirts 
are  used  for  wadding  to  the  cannon,  that  the  wines  and 
cordials  go  to  the  well  soldiers  instead  of  the  sick  ones, 
and  the  stores  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  never  see  the 
inside  of  a  hospital.  I  should  like  to  see  for  myself, 
and  while  I  am  down  there  I  should  like  to  see  John.' 
"  Agreed,"  says  I,  "  We'll  start  for  Washington  to-mor 
row." 

You  see  we  went  down  south  five  years  ago,  and  came 
home  so  well  satisfied  with  Hookertown  that  we  have 
hardly  been  out  of  the  place  since,  for  more  than  a  day  or 
two  at  a  time.  Sally  Bunker  has  been  the  most  contented 
woman  in  all  my  experience  from  that  day  to  this.  I  was 
rather  glad  when  I  saw  that  she  had  got  her  mind  on  a 
visit.  It  very  soon  got  wind  that  we  were  bound  to 
Washington,  and  almost  nil  the  neighbors  brought  in  their 
axes  to  grind,  as  if  I  should  have  nothing  to  do  while  I 
was  down  there  but  to  turn  the  grindstone  for  'em. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  249 

Among  others,  Jake  Frink  came,  and  said  he  would  be 
much  obliged  if  I  would  get  him  appointed  keeper  of  the 
Hookertown  light-house.  He  said  he  would  take  back  all 
the  uncivil  things  he  had  ever  spoken  against  me,  would 
forget  the  horse-pond  lot,  and  would  admit  that  I  was  the 
best  farmer  and  most 'straightforward  Justice  in  town. 
Says  I,  "  No  you  don't,  Jake  Frink.  That  wont  go  down. 
But  I  am  willing  to  lay  your  case  before  the  President 
and  give  him  my  honest  opinion." 

It  took  Mrs.  Bunker  a  week  to  get  started,  for  she  had 
to  go  down  to  Shadtown  to  see  Sally  and  the  grandchil 
dren,  as  if  she  wasn't  going  to  see  'em  again  in  a  year. 
We  went  round  outside  so  as  to  see  the  Potomac  river, 
Mount  Vernon,  and  as  much  of  the  rebel  country  as  was 
possible  in  so  short  a  time.  The  valley  of  the  Potomac 
surpassed  all  our  expectations.  It  is  a  magnificent  region, 
with  every  natural  facility  for  agriculture  and  commerce, 
and  the  trades  connected  with  them.  We  sailed  all  day 
up  that  river  without  seeing  any  thing  like  a  village  until 
we  reached  Alexandria.  There  were  beautiful  farming 
lands,  still  well  wooded,  and  occasionally  a  fine  planter's 
mansion,  with  its  group  of  slave  cabins.  But  for  the  most 
part  the  houses  are  dilapidated  and  look  forsaken.  How 
rapidly  will  a  change  come  over  this  scene,  when  ener 
getic  men  take  possession,  and  villages  spring  up  like 
magic  along  the  banks  of  this  noble  river  !  There  ought 
to  have  been  a  half  million  of  people  here  instead  of  a 
handful  of  planters. 

Mrs.  Bunker  had  heard  awful  stories  about  the  steep 
prices  for  board  in  Washington,  six  dollars  a  day  at  Wil- 
lard's  and  hard  to  get  in  at  that,  and  was  a  good  deal 
worried  lest  the  money  should  give  out  before  we  finished 
our  visit.  Now  you  see  these  high  prices  are  only  for  the 
rich  ones  who  don't  care,  and  the  green  ones  who  don't 
know  any  better.  We  soon  found  that  Washington  is 
about  the  bp.>4  place  in  the  country  for  people  to  live  hide- 


250  THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

pendently.  In  Boston  they  ask  you  if  you  know  any 
thing;  in  New  York,  how  much  money  you  have  got;  in 
Philadelphia,  who  is  your  father?  In  Washington,  they 
take  you  upon  trust,  until  they  find  you  out.  As  we  did 
not  calculate  to  stay  long  enough  to  be  found  out,  it  suited 
us  exactly.  Your  respectability  does  not  depend  upon 
your  keeping  house,  boarding  at  a  hotel,  or  taking  fur 
nished  rooms  and  having  meals  served  to  suit  your  con 
venience.  To  people  who  have  backbone  and  can  attend 
to  their  own  marketing,  living  is  not  much  dearer  than  in 
~New  York. 

I  kept  my  eyes  opened  while  in  the  Capital,  and  was 
astonished  to  see  the  enormous  waste  they  make  of  hay 
and  provisions,  and  every  thing  else  in  this  war.  One 
would  think  that  when  hay  is  $30  a  ton,  they  could  afford 
to  take  care  of  it,  but  it  is  dumped  down  almost  any 
where,  and  has  to  take  its  chances  with  the  weather. 
Corn  and  oats  fare  pretty  much  in  the  same  way.  I  judge 
that  musty  grain  and  hay  must  be  plenty  in  the  army. 
I  saw  a  large  herd  of  government  cattle,  perhaps  fat  when 
they  were  bought,  but  they  had  got  to  be  rather  lean 
looking  specimens.  Had  the  Potomac  been  the  Nile,  I 
should  have  thought  of  the  lean  kine  of  Pharoah.  It  was 
suggested  by  an  observer  that  the  purses  of  contractors 
were  not  lean,  if  the  cattle  were. 

I  attended  to  Jake  Frink's  business  early;  I  went  right 
round  to  the  White  House  and  found  a  colored  man  at 
the  door,  and  says  I,  "  Is  Mr.  Lincoln  home  ?"  Says  he, 
"  The  President  don't  receive  calls  to-day."  "Well,"  says  I, 
"  You  jest  tell  him  that  'Squire  Bunker  of  Hookertown 
wants  to  see  him  on  a  little  business."  I  got  in  by  that 
trick.  I  expect  he  had  seen  my  name  in  the  Agricultur 
ist,  though  I  didn't  know  him  from  Adam.  He  received 
me  with  a  smile  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  as  if  I  had 
been  an  old  acquaintance.  Says  I,  "  Mr.  Lincoln,  I  hain't 
got  any  ax  to  grind  for  myself,  but  one  of  my  neighbors 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  251 

has — wants  a  light-house,  and  I  promised  him  when  I  left 
home  to  see  you  about  it."  "  Well,"  says  the  President, 
"  that  hardly  comes  under  my  direction ;  I  shall  have  to 
refer  you  to  the  Light-house  Department."  "Well," 
says  I,  "I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  it.  I  want  to  say 
that  Jake  Frink  is  rather  a  poor  farmer,  don't  manage  his 
own  business  well,  and  I  don't  think  he  would  manage 
yours  any  better.  His  light  don't  shine  on  the  farm,  and 
I  don't  think  he  would  make  it  shine  in  a  Light-house." 
u  'Squire  Bunker,  you  are  a  brick,  but  you  don't  under 
stand  the  way  they  do  business.  If  a  man  can't  do  any 
thing  for  himself,  he  thinks  he  is-  just  fit  to  manage  Uncle 
Sam's  business.  I  will  give  you,  'Squire  Bunker,  the 
Light-house  in  Hookertown,  with  great  pleasure."  I 
assured  the  President  that  I  was  still  acting  as  Justice  of 
the  Peace,  and  should  have  to  decline  the  honor. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 
Hookertown,  Feb.  10th,  1864. 


NO.    71.— TIM   BUNKER   ON    THE    SANITARY 
COMMISSION  AND  THE  WAR. 


MR.  EDITOR. — I  was  astonished  to  hear  from  your  note 
of  yesterday  that  there  had  been  some  considerable 
inquiry,  if  not  more,  about  my  not  writing  for  the  paper 
so  much  as  common.  I  take  the  first  leisure  day  I  have 
had  in  four  months  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  You  see,  I 
always  had  my  hands  full  to  keep  up  with  my  farming 
and  writing,  and  attending  to  the  duties  of  Justice  of  the 
Peace,  before  John  went  to  the  war.  You  see,  the  boy 


252  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

had  got  to  be  mighty  handy  about  every  thing,  from  yok 
ing  a  steer,  to  mending  a  broken  window  or  cleaning  a 
clock.  And  when  he  turned  soldier,  every  little  thing 
that  the  boy  used  to  do  fell  back  into  my  hands,  and 
come  to  pile  this  on  top  of  Court  duties,  and  war  and  poli 
tics,  I  have  hardly  had  time  to  find  out  whether  my  soul 
was  my  own  or  not.  I  rather  guess  'tis,  however,  at  least 
enough  of  it  to  give  you  a  bit  of  my  mind  on  the  topics  at 
the  head  of  this  letter. 

You  see,  when  I  last  wrote,  I  left  off  in  the  White 
House,  a  place  that  many  a  smart  man,  (and  some  that 
aren't  so  smart)  has  been  crazy  to  get  into,  and  never 
fetched.  When  I  got  home  Jake  Frink  wanted  to  know 
if  I  had  done  his  errand.  I  told  him  I  thought  I  had  done 
it  up  brown,  and  if  he  didn't  believe  it  he  might  see  just 
what  I  said  in  the  papers.  You  see,  he  hasn't  been  into 
our  house  since.  That  is  the  way  with  some  folks ;  you 
may  do  your  best  to  serve  'em,  and  they  will  treat  you 
with  the  blackest  ingratitude  and  neglect.  Somehow  it 
hasn't  been  particularly  lonesome  at  our  house,  though 
Jake  hasn't  called  as  usual.  I  hadn't  time  in  my  last  let 
ter  to  tell  you  about  the  Sanitary  Commission  business. 
You  see,  that  was  about  half  that  took  Mrs.  Bunker  to 
Washington  ;  the  other  half  was  John,  for  I  must  own  she 
has  considerable  of  a  woman's  weakness  about  her.  She 
is  such  a  prudent  sort  of  a  woman  in  her  own  household 
that  she  can't  bear  to  see  a  bit  of  anything  wasted.  Our 
dog  was  always  lean  when  we  kept  one,  for  all  the  scraps 
went  into  the  swill-pail  for  the  pigs.  Finally,  she  thought 
dogs  didn't  pay,  and  as  I  couldn't  gainsay  that  opinion 
our  dog  turned  up  missing  one  night.  As  I  noticed  an 
uncommon  bleating  of  sheep  and  skipping  of  lambs  the 
next  time  I  went  to  salt  the  flock,  I  kind  of  thought  they 
had  got  the  news  and  was  holding  a  sort  of  Thanksgiving. 
The  cats  caught  mice  and  fared  better.  Now,  you  see, 
Mrs.  Bunker  thought  that  her  notions  of  economy  and  sav- 


THE   TIM    BUNKEK   PAPERS.  253 

ing  ought  to  be  carried  into  all  public  matters.  She  said, 
"  Gather  up  the  fragments  that  nothing  be  lost,"  ought  to 
be  written  as  a  frontispiece  over  the  door  of  every  public 
building  and  hospital  in  Washington,  and  everywhere 
else.  Now  there  are  a  set  of  busybodies,  who  have  noth 
ing  else  to  do  but  to  find  fault  with  the  management  of  all 
public  concerns,  from  the  President's  business  down  to  the 
Justice's  Court  in  Hookertown.  They  have  sometimes 
criticized  my  judgments,  though  I  never  had  an  opinion 
reversed  by  a  higher  court  since  I  sat  upon  the  bench. 
You  see,  these  idle  folks — cha,ps  like  Jake  Frink — would 
say,  "  it  was  no  sort  of  use  to  send  any  thing  to  the  sol 
diers,  for  it  wasn't  half  the  time  they  got  any  thing  when 
it  was  sent.  A  good  deal  of  it  was  stolen,  lots  of  things 
were  smashed  by  the  Express  Companies,  and  the  jellies 
and  jams  got  jammed  into  the  wrong  stomachs."  You 
see,  these  stories  worried  my  wife  just  as  bad  as  if  the 
milk  was  souring  in  her  own  pantry  in  dog-days.  They 
didn't  worry  me  much,  for  I  always  noticed  that  the  folks 
who  grumbled  most  about  the  Sanitary  stores  spoiling, 
were  the  very  ones  who  hadn't  given  a  red  cent  to  buy 
them.  A  precious  little  Jake  Frink  and  company  care 
about  the  soldiers  !  He  never  gave  a  dime  for  Sanitary 
stores. 

Well,  you  see,  nothing  would  satisfy  the  woman,  but 
she  must  go  and  see  that  nothing  was  wasted,  and  when 
she  came  to  hear  that  John  was  wounded  it  brought  mat 
ters  to  a  focus,  as  Mr.  Spooner  would  say,  and  we  set  right 
out  for  Washington.  The  hospitals  about  that  city  are 
about  as  thick  as  hay-cocks  in  a  meadow  on  a  summer 
afternoon,  and  it  takes  one  near  a  week  to  see  'em  all  and 
find  out  all  the  particulars.  Mrs.  Bunker  went  into  them 
about  as  thorough  as  if  she  was  house-cleaning,  and  I 
guess  the  nurses  thought  the  Inspector  General  had  sent 
an  agent  to  pry  into  things  generally.  She  wanted  to 
know  if  the  things  come  straight,  that  had  been  sent  to 


254  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

them  by  express  from  Hookertown,  for  she  knew  what  the 
Sewing  Society  had  sent,  as  she  was  one  of  the  directress 
es,  and  packed  up  pretty  much  all  herself.  There  were 
shirts  and  drawers,  socks  and  blankets,  cushions,  ticks  and 
sheets,  pillow-cases,  quilts  and  comfortables,  and  pretty 
much  every  thing  that  a  sick  man  could  wear  or  use  on  a 
bed.  There  were  preserves  in  every  variety,  sugar,  tea 
and  coffee,  candles,  soap  and  towels,  tin  plates,  basins  and 
lanterns,  etc., — six  barrels  and  nine  boxes  packed  jam  full. 
Now  it  so  happened  that  the  Hookertown  supplies  were 
on  hand,  and  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  every 
thing  had  come  straight.  All  the  nurses  agreed  that  the 
express  folks  brought  things  very  carefully,  and  many  of 
them  would  not  take  any  pay  for  the  trouble.  Mrs.  Bun 
ker  was  astonished  to  find  everything  so  neat  and  clean. 
When  she  went  into  the  Columbian  College  Hospital  and 
saw  the  doctor  and  his  wife,  and  the  motherly  looking 
women  that  were  nursing  the  soldiers,  and  the  nice  beds 
and  the  scrubbed  floors,  she  declared  it  was  equal  to  any 
thing  in  Connecticut  housekeeping,  which  she  thinks  is 
about  the  limit  of  perfection.  The  Sunday  after  she  got 
home,  she  looked  up  from  the  Bible  where  she  was  read 
ing,  and  taking  off  the  gold-bowed  spectacles  that  Josiah 
gave  her,  she  said,  "  Timothy,  I  declare,  I  used  to  think 
David  was  rather  hard  on  mankind  when  he  says,  'All 
men  are  liars.'  But  since  1  went  down  to  Washington 
and  saw  how  they  lied  about  the  Sanitary  Commission,  I 
think  he  wa'n't  much  out  of  the  way.  Things  down  there 
could  not  have  been  better  managed  if  I  had  done  it  my 
self."  I  guess  she  is  about  right,  and  folks  need  not  be 
afraid  of  doing  too  much  for  our  soldiers.  The  poor  fel 
lows  are  fighting  our  battles,  and  we  ought  to  do  every 
thing  we  can  for  them  when  they  are  sick  and  wounded. 
Three  years  fighting  has  not  made  us  poor;  we  have  only 
grown  rich  and  saucy.  Hookertown  is  as  chockful  of  fight 
as  ever.  We  have  some  soldiers'  graves  among  us,  and 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  255 

some  in  old  Virginia,  and  by  the  bones  of  our  honored 
dead  we  are  going  to  see  this  thing  fought  straight 
through. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  Oct.  5th,  1864. 


72.— TIM    BUNKER'S    RAID    AMONG    THE 
PICKLE    PATCHES. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — "  What  is  in  the  wind  now  ?  "  asked  Seth 
Twiggs,  as  Mrs.  Bunker  and  I  started  off  down  the  Shad- 
town  .road. 

"  Smoke,"  said  I,  as  Seth  pulled  out  his  stump  of  a  pipe, 
and  blew  a  puff  into  the  air  like  a  small  locomotive  just 
firing  up.  Old  Black  Hawk  has  n't  been  used  much  lately, 
and  he  went  off  considerable  gay,  as  we  struck  the  turn 
pike  on  Seth  Twiggs'  corner.  Seth  did  not  follow  his  big- 
bellied  Dutch  pipe  a  great  while,  but  fell  back  upon  his 
own  tried  and  trusty  clay  stump.  It  is  mighty  hard  for 
old  dogs  to  learn  new  tricks,  and  Seth  is  one  of  'em.  3Iy 
letter  agin  tobacco  didn't  have  any  more  effect  on  him, 
than  peas  rattling  on  a  tin  pan. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  said  Seth.  "  Where  are  you 
gwine  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  down  to  Shadtown,  to  take  the  boat," 
said  I. 

"  Then  where  ?  "  asked  Seth,  perseveringly. 

"And  then  to  New  York,  and  up  into  Westchester 
county,  visiting.  And  if  any  of  the  neighbors  get  into  a 


256  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

quarrel,  jest  tell  'em  they'd  better  make  up,  for  I  shan't 
be  back  under  a  week,  and  there  won't  be  any  Court." 

You  see  the  way  it  came  about  was  this : — Sally  got  a 
letter  a  few  weeks  ago  from  her  cousin,  who  married 
Noadiah  Tubbs,  thirty  years  ago,  and  moved  off  to  West- 
chester.  Cousin  Esther  and  Sally  used  to  be  about  as 
thick  as  blackbirds  in  the  pie,  before  they  were  married, 
but  haven't  met  often  of  late.  She  hadn't  more  than  read 
the  letter,  when  she  said : 

"  Timothy,  it  is  a  dozen  years  since  I  have  seen  Esther, 
and  she  used  to  be  the  best  friend  I  had  before  I  found 
you.  And  if  you  feel  as  if  you  could  spare  the  time,  I 
should  like  to  go  down  and  see  her  this  winter." 

"  Agreed,"  says  I.  And  we  got  ready  and  started  off 
the  next  week. 

Noadiah  Tubbs  (they  call  him  Diah,  for  short,  and 
sometimes,  Uncle  Di,)  lives  on  the  banks  of  the  Bronx, 
about  a  dozen  miles  from  the  city.  He  is  what  they  call 
in  Hookertown  a  case,  or  hard  customer.  How  in  this 
world  Esther  came  to  marry  him  I  never  could  see,  and  I 
am  a  little  more  than  ever  in  the  dark  about  it  since  our 
visit.  Perhaps  he's  grown  worse  since  he  got  married,  or 
else  I've  grown  better.  I  ought  to  be  a  good  deal  better 
after  living  so  many  years  with  Sally  Bunker.  At  any 
rate,  Diah  and  I  seemed  to  be  farther  apart  than  ever. 
Why !  the  creature  don't  go  to  meeting  more'n  once  a 
year,  and  then  it  is  when  he  is  going  to  be  put  up  for  rep 
resentative  or  sheriff,  when  he  thinks,  may  be,  he'll  get  a 
few  votes  from  church  people,  if  he  goes  to  meeting.  I 
am  sorry  to  say  there  is  rather  a  bad  state  of  morals  all 
round  Diah's  neighborhood.  The  Westchester  sinners, 
from  what  I  see  of  'em,  are  not  a  bit  better  than  Hooker- 
town  sinners.  The  folks  don't  seem  to  have  much  idea  of 
Sunday,  except  as  a  day  of  visiting,  hunting,  and  fishing. 
Rum-holes  are  plenty,  and  I  guess  this  state  of  morals  ac- 


THE   TIM    BUAKEK   PAPERS.  257 

counts  partly  for  the  fact  that  Diah  Tubbs  has  so  run 
down  to  the  heel. 

But  you  need  not  suppose  that  Uncle  Di  is  a  fool,  be 
cause  he  uses  rather  coarse  language,  and  goes  to  the  tav 
ern  oftener  than  he  ought  to.  He  is  a  pretty  fair  farmer, 
or  would  have  been  called  so  a  dozen  years  ago.  He  knows 
a  heap  about  raising  cucumbers,  which  they  call  pickles  in 
all  this  region.  Whether  they  have  heard  that  the  world 
uses  any  thing  else  besides  cucumbers  for  pickles,  I  could'nt 
say.  I  used  to  think,  before  I  took  to  writing  for  the  pa 
per,  that  I  had  learned  about  all  I  could  on  farming  mat 
ters,  but  I  find,  as  I  go  about,  that  every  region  has  some 
new  kink  in  farming,  some  special  crop  that  I've  never 
paid  much  attention  to.  All  around  Diah's  they  grow 
cucumbers  by  the  thousand.  Almost  every  farmer  near  a 
railroad  depot  puts  in  an  acre  or  two,  and  gets  about  as 
much  clean  cash  from  the  patch  as  he  does  from  the  rest 
of  the  farm. 

I  see  very  soon  that  Uncle  Di  knew  some  things  that  I 
did  n't,  and  as  I  wanted  to  learn,  I  got  him  started  the 
first  evening  after  I  got  to  his  house,  on  his  favorite  topic, 
raising  pickles.  There  was  a  large  dish  of  apples  on  the 
table  when  we  begun,  but  not  many  of  'em  left  when  we 
got  through.  Says  I,  "  What  do  your  folks  call  this  the 
pickle  crop  for  ?  " 

"  Wall,"  said  Diah,  "  I  don't  zacktly  know,  but  guess 
it's  'cause  it's  shorter  than  cowcumber.  May  be  it's  'cause 
they  grow  'em  more  for  the  pickle  factories  than  to  eat  up 
fresh." 

"  Do  they  \\&VQ  factories  for  this  business  ?  " 

"  Sartain,  big  five-story  house  over  the  river,  where  they 
make  'em  up  by  the  million." 

"  And  how  many  pickles  do  you  suppose  they  raise  in 
your  town  ?  " 

"  Wai,  I  could  not  tell,  but  it  is  an  awful  sight — enough 
to  sour  the  crop  of  all  creation,  you'd  think,  if  you  should 


258  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS 

happen  to  be  here  in  August,  and  see  'em  going  down  to 
the  depot.  Most  every  farmer  goes  into  it  more  or  less, 
and  would  raise  a  great  many  more  if  he  could  get  help 
just  when  he  wanted  it." 

"  How  do  you  prepare  the  land  for  this  crop  ?  " 

"  Wai,  there  ain't  much  of  a  knack  about  that.  I  fix  it 
pretty  much  as  I  would  for  corn,  only  I  take  more  pains 
to  make  it  mellow  and  light.  If  a  green  sward,  it  must 
be  harrowed  thoroughly,  and  the  lighter  you  leave  it  the 
better." 

"  Is  there  any  particular  advantage  in  having  the  land 
fresh?" 

"  I  never  could  see  as  it  made  much  difference.  Neigh 
bor  Bussing  has  'em  on  the  same  land  sometimes  three 
years  running.  I  'spect  more  'pends  upon  the  dung  than 
any  thing  else,  and  where  you  have  pickles,  you  calculate 
to  manure  pretty  high,  and  a  good  deal  is  left  over  for  the 
second  year." 

"  What  kind  of  manure  do  you  use  ?  " 

"  Any  I  happen  to  have  in  the  yard.  It  wants  to  be 
well  rotted,  and  if  ain't  fine  I  fork  it  over  until  I  make  it 
so.  Coarse  stuff  won't  answer." 

"  How  much,  and  how  do  you  apply  it  ?  " 

"  If  I  have  plenty  of  manure,  and  I  believe  in  that  arti 
cle  if  I  don't  in  any  thing  else,  I  spread  on  a  good  lot 
broadcast,  and  plow  it  in.  I  don't  'spose  the  crop  gets  the 
whole  the  first  year.  Then  I  put  a  good  heapin'  shovel- 
full  in  the  hill." 

"  And  how  far  apart  are  the  hills  ?  " 

"I  run  the  furrows  pretty  deep,  just  four  and  a  half  feet 
apart  both  ways,  and  make  the  hill  at  the  crossing.  One 
man  drops  the  manure,  and  another  follows  with  a  hoe, 
mixing  it  a  little  with  the  soil,  and  covering  it  an  inch  or 
two." 

"  What  time  do  you  plant  ?  " 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  259 

"  When  I  raise  for  nothing  but  pickles,  I  plant  about  the 
last  week  in  June." 

"  Suppose  it  is  a  dry  time.     What  then  ?  " 

"  I  give  the  manure  a  good  soaking.  It  is  pretty  im 
portant  to  have  the  seed  come  right  up.  You  see,  the 
cowcumber  is  of  such  a  nature  that  if  it  gets  sot,  it  is  of 
no  use  to  try  to  start  'em.  You  must  push  'em  right  along." 

"  And  what  variety  do  you  plant  ?  " 

"  We  ain't  got  any  pertikelar  name  for  'em.  They  ain't 
Clusters,  nor  London  Greens,  nor  Russians.  I  guess  they 
are  a  sort  of  mixture,  for  every  man  raises  his  own  seed." 

"  Is  there  any  particular  knack  in  doing  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is.  More  'n  half  the  battle  lies  in  raising 
the  seed.  I  tried  some  seed  I  got  in  the  city  once,  and 
didn't  have  any  luck  at  all.  It  won't  do  to  take  the  odds 
and  ends  for  seed.  If  you  want  a  lot  of  pot-bellies  and 
nubbins,  plant  the  seed  of  such,  and  you'll  get  'em.  I 
generally  take  the  cucumbers  that  grow  on  the  second  and 
third  joint,  and  let  them  ripen  for  seed,  and  don't  allow 
any  body  else  to  see  'em.  I  put  'em  where  I  can  find  'em 
in  the  summer." 

"  How  many  do  you  have  in  a  hill  ?  " 

"  I  plant  from  five  to  ten,  and  thin  out  at  hoeing  time 
to  five  or  six." 

"  How  many  times  do  you  hoe  ?  " 

"  I  cultivate  and  hoe  but  once,  and  it  is  pretty  import 
ant  that  that  should  be  done  at  just  the  right  time.  A 
day  too  late  makes  a  great  deal  of  extra  work.  I  run  a 
plow  about  three  times  between  the  rows  just  before  the 
vines  fall  over  and  begin  to  run,  then  dress  out  with  a  hoe." 

But  I  see  that  I  can't  tell  you  all  that  Uncle  Diah  said 
in  this  letter,  and  if  your  readers'  teeth  are  not  all  set  on 
edge,  next  month  I'll  give  'em  some  more  pickles. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 

Hookertown,  Jan.  5th,  1865. 


260  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

NO.  73.— TIM  BUNKER'S  RAID  AMONG  THE 
PICKLE  PATCHES.— (Concluded) 


MR.  EDITOR  : — I  began  to  give  you  some  account  last 
month  about  the  way  Noadiah  Tubbs  raised  pickles  up  in 
Westchester  County.  I  wanted  your  readers  to  hear  him 
out,  for  when  you  get  an  old  farmer  to  talking  on  a  sub 
ject  that  he  feels  at  home  in,  he  always  has  something  to 
say  worth  hearing.  Daniel  Webster  learned  something 
about  growing  turnips  from  the  farmers  of  Old  England, 
and  a  very  plain  boatman  taught  him  in  cod-fishing. 
Diah's  morals  don't  exactly  square  with  my  notions,  but  I 
am  willing  to  own  that  he  knows  more  than  I  do  about 
raising  pickles.  So  you  may  just  imagine  that  he  sits 
there  cocked  up  in  his  flag-bottomed  chair  in  the  corner, 
squirting  tobacco  juice  into  the  sanded  spit-box  and 
"  pickle  eddication  "  into  Tim  Bunker. 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  cultivate  your  crop  more ;  what  is 
the  reason  ?" 

"  Wai,"  said  Diah,  "  There's  two  or  three  reasons.  You 
see,  you  don't  plow  the  ground  till  the  weediest  part  of 
the  season  is  over,  about  July  1st.  Then  the  cultivating 
comes  along  the  last  of  the  month,  nnd  before  it  is  time  to 
cultivate  agin,  the  vines  are  in  the  way.  And  besides,  I 
allers  sow  turnips  at  the  time  of  cultivating,  to  take  the 
ground  when  the  vines  have  done  bearing.  And  in  this 
way  I  often  get  a  half  crop  of  turnips  and  kill  two  birds 
with  one  stone,  if  not  more;  for  the  turnips  take  the  place 
of  weeds,  don't  tax  the  ground  any  more,  and  are  a  great 
deal  better  for  the  cattle." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that,  I  declare!  When  do  you 
begin  to  pick  pickles  ?  " 

"  It  won't  vary  much  from  six  weeks  from  the  time  of 
phmtin." 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 


261 


"  And  how  long  does  the  season  last  ?  " 

"  It  will  hold  on  for  six  weeks  or  more,  until  frost  comes 
sometimes." 

"  What  do  you  do  to  keep  the  bugs  off?  I  am  always 
pestered  to  death  with  bugs  on  my  vines." 

"That  is  pretty  easily  managed  where  you  have  so 
many  vines.  Bugs  might  easily  eat  up  a  dozen  hills  in  a 
garden  where  they  would  more'n  have  their  mouths  full 
in  a  two-acre  lot.  I  generally  sprinkle  on  a  little  plaster 
as  soon  as  they  get  up  in  sight,  and  if  this  don't  stop  the 
bugs  I  go  over  them  once  or  twice  more.  The  plaster  is 
good  manure  for  'em  any  way,  and  I  s'pose  a  pinch  of  gu- 
anner  in  it  would  be  better  still.  If  I  had  hen  manure 
plenty  I  should  jest  as  lives  have  that.  I  calculate  to  keep 
the  vines  growing  so  fast  that  the  bugs  can't  catch  'em." 

"  That's  a  good  idea.  I  s'posQ  that  accounts  for  the  fact 
that  we  don't  see  so  many  vines  destroyed  in  wet  seasons 
as  in  dry.  I  never  thought  of  that  before.  Now  I  should 
like  to  know  a  little  about  marketing  the  pickles,  and  as 
them  apples  are  gittin  rather  low  I'll  let  you  rest." 

"  I  ginerally  make  a  market  for  'em  with  some  pickle 
maker  in  the  city  or  over  on  the  North  River.  He  agrees 
to  take  'em  delivered  at  the  depot  at  so  much  a  thousand — 
assorted  in  barrels.  We  make  three  sizes.  The  big  ones 
are  for  eating  fresh,  and  I  s'pose  are  sold  in  market  by  the 
pickle  men  for  that  purpose.  The  other  two  sizes  are  just 
the  thing  for  pickles,  and  go  to  the  factory.  These  are  the 
fellers  you  see  in  jars  in  all  the  corner  grocery  stores.  We 
pick  all  sizes  together,  and  carry  them  to  some  convenient 
place  under  a  shed,  at  the  edge  of  the  pickle  patch,  and 
there  they  are  sorted  and  put  in  barrels  and  sent  off  to 
market." 

"  How  often  do  you  have  to  pick  'em  ?  " 

"  Every  other  day  is  the  rule.  But  sometimes  a  rainy 
day  comes  and  stops  the  picking,  which  makes  trouble. 
The  pickles  git  a  great  deal  bigger  and  it  takes  about  a 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

third  more  barrels  to  hold  'em,  and  you  don't  git  any  thing 
extra  for  your  trouble.  Some  folks  stop  for  Sunday,  but 
that  don't  make  any  difference  with  me.  I  never  could 
see  but  what  pickles  pick'd  Sunday  brought  jest  as  good 
money  as  any  other." 

"  Wai,  now,  I  don't  believe  that  suits  Esther." 

"  No,  it  don't.  She  and  the  parson  and  all  the  children 
have  a  runnin'  fight  with  me  on  that  subject." 

"  I  guess  when  you  come  to  foot  the  bills  in  the  final  ac 
count,  you'll  find  that  all  the  money  you've  made  by  Sun 
day  work  has  burnt  a  hole  in  your  pocket  and  dropped 
out.  But  how  many  men  does  it  take  to  attend  to  a 
pickle  patch  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  at  least  four  to  the  acre,  and  they'll 
have  to  be  pretty  smart  to  keep  up  with  the  work.  It  is 
hard  on  the  back  until  you  get  used  to  it.  You  can  work 
in  boys  pretty  well,  as  they  don't  have  so  far  to  bend. 
You  want  to  pick  one-half  of  the  patch  one  day,  and  the 
other  half  the  next,  and  so  on." 

"  What  do  you  make  your  shed  out  of?  " 

"  Most  any  thing  will  do  for  that.  Four  crotched  sticks 
and  two  poles  with  rails  laid  across,  and  buckwheat  straw 
or  any  refuse  hay  put  on  to  make  a  cover  and  shed  rain, 
will  answer  very  well." 

"  How  many  pickles  can  you  raise  on  an  acre  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  is  about  as  much  difference  in  pickles  as 
there  is  in  any  thing  else.  Your  succoss  depends  some  on 
good  seed,  some  on  manure,  and  some  on  care,  and  a  good 
deal  on  luck." 

"  Just  what  do  you  mean  by  luck  ?  " 

"  It's  what  man  hasn't  any  thing  to  do  with.  Some 
would  call  it  the  season,  and  some  Providence.  I  call  it 
luck." 

"  I  guess  there  is  a  Providence  in  the  pickle  crop  as  in 
every  thing  else,  and  if  the  Almighty  don't  send  rain, 
you'll  come  out  at  the  little  end  of  the  horn." 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  263 

"  Well,  it  may  be  so.  If  every  thing  works  right  you 
may  calculate  on  getting  about  three  hundred  thousand 
pickles  to  the  acre.  Sometimes  I  have  known  'em  to  get 
four,  but  they  must  manure  high  and  have  uncommon 
good  luck  to  do  that.  A  good  many  fall  short  because 
they  don't  understand  the  business." 

"  About  what  do  you  get  for  your  crop,  taking  them  by 
the  season  ?  " 

"  I  sold  them  last  year  for  fourteen  shillings  a  thousand, 
but  some  got  as  high  as  two  dollars.  I  calculate  I  got  a 
thousand  dollars  for  my  two  acres,  and  the  expenses  were 
less  than  four  hundred,  and  I  had  to  hire  every  bit  of  la 
bor.  With  good  management  and  luck  I  should  say  a 
man  might  clear  about  three  hundred  dollars  to  the  acre, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  turnips,  which  come  mighty  handy." 

"  And  what  is  the  effect  of  the  crop  on  the  land  ?  For 
I  find  that  is  a  matter  to  be  taken  into  the  account.  Some 
crops  run  the  land  terrible  hard,  and  if  you  don't  manure 
high,  they'll  make  a  desert  of  it." 

"  That's  so.  Tobacco,  for  instance.  I've  tried  it  time 
and  agin,  and  it  like  to  have  spiled  my  farm.  It  took 
about  all  the  manure  I  could  rake  and  scrape  for  two  acres 
of  tobacco,  and  the  rest  of  the  land  went  dry.  It  aint  so  with 
pickles.  They  are  pretty  much  all  water,  and  a  good  deal 
of  the  strength  of  the  manure  goes  over  to  the  next  crop. 
Then  if  they  are  well  attended  to,  they  leave  the  ground 
pretty  clean.  You  see  the  weeds  are  all  turned  under  the 
last  of  June,  and  agin  when  you  cultivate  the  last  of  July. 
Then  the  turnips  sown  between  the  rows  get  the  start  of 
the  weeds,  and  when  these  are  pulled  in  November,  you 
have  a  pretty  clean  field ;  I  have  allers  noticed  that  grass 
and  almost  any  other  crop  did  well  after  pickles." 

Esther's  apple  dish  got  low  about  this  time  and  Diah's 
pond  of  pickle  knowledge  was  in  the  same  condition.  I 
pumped  him  dry.  Yours  to  command, 

Hookertown,  Feb.  10,  1865.       TIMOTHY  BUNKEK,  ESQ. 


264  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPEKS. 


NO.  74.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  "  STRIKING  ILE." 


"Have  you  hee'rn  the  news, 'Squire  Bunker?"  asked 
Jake  Frink,  as  he  carne  into  our  house  last  evening,  after 
a  long  absence. 

You  see,  Jake  has  been  mighty  shy  of  our  house  ever 
since  my  trip  to  Washington,  and  the  upsetting  of  his 
light-house,  etc.  It  took  some  great  excitement  like  the 
present  oil  fever  to  bring  him  round. 

"  No,  I  haven't.  It  is  the  latest  news,  neighbor  Frink, 
to  see  you  here.  You're  welcome." 

"  Wai,"  says  Jake,  "  they  du  say  that  Deacon  Smith  has 
made  five  thousand  dollars  on  ile  within  the  last  few 
weeks." 

"  And  how  did  that  happen  ?  " 

"  It  didn't  happen  at  all.  He  made  it  by  speculation  in 
ile  stocks.  Ye  see,  he  and  a  few  men  in  Wall-street 
bought  a  lot  of  land  for  forty  thousand  dollars,  and  then 
bought  an  ile  well,  jest  to  sweeten  it,  and  sold  out  sheers 
enuff  to  come  to  a  quarter  of  a  million,  and  talked  about 
a  working  capital  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  all 
the  work  that  capital  did  was  jest  tu  work  money  intu 
their  own  pockets,  and  the  Deacon's  share  of  the  spiles 
was  five  thousand  dollars.  I  guess  I  shall  want  to  hear 
the  Deacon  pray  arter  this !  " 

"  Hear  him  pray  !  "  exclaimed  Sally,  taking  off  her  gold- 
bowed  spectacles.  "Little  chance  of  that,  Jake,  for  you 
haven't  been  inside  of  a  meeting-house  in  a  year." 

Jake  did  not  heed  that  shot,  but  proceeded. 

"  Now  I  should  like  to  know,  Squire  Bunker,  whether 
there  is  anything  in  this  ile  business,  or  whether  it  is  all 
bosh.  Did  you  see  any  ile  when  you  was  in  the  city  ?  " 

"  Lots  of  it,  neighbor  Frink,  and  heard  a  great  deal 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  265 

more  than  I  saw.  There  is  no  kind  of  doubt  that  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  is  full  of  ile." 

"  And  do  you  suppose,  Timothy,  it  is  prepared  for  the 
great  conflagration  of  which  the  Bible  speaks  ? "  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  Bunker. 

"  I  couldn't  say  as  to  that.  I  guess  it  will  light  up  a 
good  many  parlors  and  kitchens  before  it  will  help  burn 
up  the  world.  You'd  be  astonished  to  see  the  quantity 
that  comes  into  the  city  from  the  West,  and  the  quantity 
that  goes  out  of  it  to  the  East.  Why,  what  a  change  it 
has  made  in  all  our  houses  !  Just  think  of  the  different 
sorts  of  lights  we  have  had  since  we  went  to  housekeep 
ing  !  Tallow  candles,  with  tow  wicks  that  you  used  to 
spin  from  the  tow  from  my  hatchel,  dipped  in  tallow  about 
Christmas ;  then  candles  with  cotton  wicks,  and  run  in 
moulds,  six  in  a  bunch ;  then  whale  oil  lamps ;  then  cam- 
phene  and  burning  fluid,  and  lastly,  kerosene,  the  best  of 
all." 

"  Du  tell  if  kerosene  is  the  same  thing  that  comes  out 
of  the  ile  wells !  I  thought  they  called  it  ketrolum,  or 
some  sich  name." 

"  That  is  it,  neighbor  Frink,  only  kerosene  is  Petroleum, 
after  it  is  purified  at  the  factories." 

"  Wall,  neow,  du  ye  think  there  is  any  chance  for  me  to 
make  money  easy  in  these  ile  companies  ?  " 

"  I  shall  have  to  say  yes  and  no  according  to  circum 
stances  ;  just  as  I  would  say  about  gold  mining.  There 
is,  no  doubt,  plenty  of  gold  in  California,  Idaho,  and  the 
Rocky  Mountains  in  general.  But  it  is  my  private  opinion, 
that  if  all  the  money  and  labor  expended  in  those  regions 
had  been  applied  to  the  soil  in  regular  farming,  or  othei 
common  industrial  pursuits,  they  would  have  produced 
more  property  and  more  happiness  than  can  be  found  in 
those  countries  now.  A  fe\v  lucky  adventurers  have  made 
fortunes,  but  the  most  who  have  gone  thither  have  either 
failed,  or  got  a  bare  support.  Thousands  upon  thousands 


266  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

have  lost  capital  and  labor,  and  life  itself,  in  the  vain  pur 
suit  of  sudden  riches." 

u  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  talk  so,  Squire.  Ye  see  I  have 
tried  the  plan  of  slow  riches  for  more  'n  forty  years,  and 
it's  no  go.  I've  dug  airly  and  late,  and  stuck  tew  my 
business  as  close  as  the  next  man,  and  I  aint  out  of  debt 
yit.  And  now  if  you  say  there  is  no  chance  for  sudden 
riches,  I  am  done  for." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  had  stuck  to  the  farm  more  and  to  the 
bottle  less,  the  result  might  have  been  different." — "I 
don't  see  that,"  said  Jake,  gruffly. 

"  Well,  your  neighbors  do,  and  it  is  no  use  to  try  to 
shift  off  the  faults  of  the  man  upon  the  farm,  or  the  busi 
ness  of  farming.  Nothing  pays  better  in  the  long  run. 
There  is  money  in  ile,  just  as  there  is  in  gold,  only  the  ile 
business  is  not  quite  so  risky.  To  those  who  know  the 
ropes,  I  suppose  there  isn't  any  risk  at  all.  The  men  who 
buy  the  land,  and  get  up  the  companies,  as  a  rule,  make 
money.  In  the  present  fever  heat  of  the  business,  there 
is  no  trouble  about  selling  shares,  and  they  mean  to  sell 
enough  to  pay  for  the  land,  and  line  their  own  pockets, 
whether  they  ever  strike  a  drop  of  ile  or  not.  If  they  are 
fortunate  enough  to  strike  ile,  they  make  a  good  thing  for 
their  shareholders.  If. they  do  not,  their  stock  is  not  worth 
a  chaw  of  tobacco.  They  do  not  tell  that  it  costs  four  or 
five  thousand  dollars  to  sink  a  well,  and  that  thousands  of 
these  wells  are  bored  without  ever  returning  a  red  cent 
for  the  labor.  They  do  not  tell  how  many  wells  yield  lots 
at  first,  and,  after  a  while,  'kind  o'  gin  out,'  like  the  Pad 
dy's  calf.  And  what  is  a  hundred  acres  of  land  worth, 
with  a  dozen  dry  wells  on  it  ?  " 

It  is  astonishing,  Mr.  Editor,  to  see  how  crazy  people 
are  getting  on  this  subject.  The  Multicaulis  fever,  thirty 
years  ago,  wa'n't  a  priming  to  this.  When  I  went  through 
your  city  a  few  weeks  ago,  I  did  not  hear  much  of  any 
thing  else  talked  about.  The  war  was  nowhere,  dry  goods 


T1JE    TIM    BUNKER    TAPERS.  267 

didn't  amount  to  much,  and  I  couldn't  get  even  a  butcher 
to  talk  of  beef  cattle  more  than  five  minutes.  Every  old 
acquaintance  I  met  offered  me  oil  stocks,  as  if  it  was  a 
medicine  and  I  was  ailing  badly.  I  was  told  they  were 
going  to  get  up  an  exchange  on  purpose  to  sell  ile  stocks. 
The  papers  were  all  full  of  it,  advertising  companies  with 
a  capital  anywhere  from  a  quarter  of  a  million  up  to  ten 
millions.  And  it  is  not  much  better  out  here  in  the  coun 
try.  These  things  are  advertised  in  the  religious  papers, 
holding  out  to  everybody  the  prospect  of  sudden  riches. 
The  women  get  hold  of  the  papers  and  read  these  adver 
tisements  just  as  if  they  were  law  and  gospel,  being  in  a 
religious  paper,  and  indorsed  by  the  editors,  you  see.  I 
am  afraid  they  read  more  about  ile  than  they  do  about 
religion.  It  does  seem  as  if  everybody's  face  was  shining 
with  ile.  They  get  all  stirred  up,  and  half  the  time  for 
get  to  wash  the  dishes,  or  get  the  dinner  into  the  wrong 
pot.  They  carry  the  matter  to  the  minister,  as  they  do  all 
their  other  troubles,  and  he  thinks  there  may  be  something 
in  it.  Then  they  tease  their  husbands  to  buy  stock,  and 
dream  of  rivers  of  ile  and  fine  houses.  "  What  is  the  use 
of  scrubbing  away  at  the  wash-tub,  or  grubbing  with  a 
hoe,  when  you  can  have  somebody  pump  money  into  your 
pocket  just  as  easy  as  you  pump  water  into  a  pail  ?  " 

Now  you  see,  Mr.  Editor,  this  business  has  gone  about 
far  enough.  It  is  unsettling  the  foundations,  as  Mr. 
Spooner  would  say.  It  is  well  enough  for  people  who 
have  got  money  to  throw  away,  to  go  into  these  specula 
tions.  They  may  make  a  heap  of  money,  and  they  may 
lose  every  cent.  Farmers,  generally,  are  not  of  this  class. 
There  is  nothing  we  want  so  much  as  more  capital  in  our 
business.  If  I  put  a  hundred  dollars  into  tile  drains,  or 
into  a  mowing  machine,  or  a  stone  digger,  I  am  sure  to 
get  a  good  dividend.  If  I  put  it  into  ile  stock,  I  may  get 
three  per  cent  a  month,  but  more  likely  I  shall  not  get 
three  cents  in  as  many  years.  Keep  your  capital  where 

12 


268  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

you  can  watch  it.     Drive  at  your  business,  if  you  would 
prosper.     In  farming,  there  is  no  ile  like  elbow  grease, 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 
Hookertown,  March  10,  1865. 


75.— TIM  BUNKER'S  VISIT  TO  TITUS  OAKS, 
ESQ. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — You  see  I  hadn't  more  than  got  done 
with  Diah  Tubbs  and  his  pickle  patch,  when  I  begun  to 
grow  uneasy  for  something  else  to  talk  about.  Some  folks 
can  set  round  the  fire  and  talk  with  the  women  all  day, 
but  I  never  could  do  up  my  visiting  in  that  way.  I  knew 
I  had  got  about  all  out  of  Uncle  Di  in  one  evening  that  I 
should  get  out  of  him  if  I  pumped  him  till  doomsday. 
So  the  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  begun  to  inquire 
about  the  neighboring  country  and  farmers.  Says  I, 

"Uncle  Di,  your  Westchester  county  is  a  great  country. 
I  have  heard  of  it  clear  up  in  Connecticut.  You  ought  to 
have  some  smart  farmers  round  here  that  go  in  for  fancy 
stock." 

"  Jest  so.  We  have  lots  on  'em.  Fellers  that  got  rich 
in  the  city,  and  come  out  here  and  spend  their  money  and 
call  it  high  farming.  I'll  bet  you  a  shad,  every  potato 
they  raise  costs  'em  a  dollar." 

'*  How  do  you  make  that  out  ?  " 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  they  take  perticuler  pains  to  buy  the 
roughest,  stoniest  place  they  can  find,  and  next  see  how 
much  money  they  can  bury  up  in  it.  They  blow  rocks, 
tear  down  hills,  drain  swamps,  fill  up  ponds  that  is,  and 
dig  ponds  that  ain't,  and  call  'em  lakes;  cut  down  trees 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  :2G9 

that  are  stanuin,  and  plant  trees  where  there  aint  none ; 
put  the  surface  sile  down  to  the  bottom,  and  bring  up  the 
yaller  dirt  for  the  sake  of  making  it  black,  and  raise  Hob 
generally  with  the  land  before  they  plant  it.  Here  is 
Squire  Oaks,  jest  above  me,  that  has  been  rippin  and  tear- 
in  with  his  land  for  a  dozen  years  and  more,  and  I  guess 
every  acre  he's  got  has  cost  him  tew  hundred  dollars,  if 
not  more,  and  I  can  beat  him  on  pickles,  with  all  his  ma 
nure  and  subsoiling." 

"  Well,  now,  'spose  we  hitch  up  and  go  over  and  see 
Squire  Oaks'  place  this  morning.  I  want  to  learn  some 
thing  to  carry  back  to  Hookertown." 

"What  do  you  say,  Esther?"  inquired  Uncle  Di,  look 
ing  up  to  headquarters. 

"I  think,"  says  Mrs.  Tubbs,  "that  Sally  would  like  to 
see  one  of  our  country  seats.  Mr.  Oaks  has  a  fine  conser 
vatory,  and  the  flowers  are  very  attractive  this  winter." 
So  it  was  arranged  that  we  should  visit  the  country  seat 
of  Titus  Oaks,  Esq.,  in  full  force. 

I  expected  to  find  a  man,  city  bred,  with  gloves  on,  and 
stove-pipe  hat,  and  gold-headed  cane,  ordering  men  round, 
right  and  left.  Instead  of  that,  I  found  a  man  that  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  native  of  Hookertown,  any  where 
on  Connecticut  soil,  and  driving  away  at  the  dirt  and 
stone,  as  if  he  wa'n't  afraid  of  them. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  I,  "  Squire  Oaks.  I  am  glad  to 
find  a  Justice  of  the  Peace  in  these  parts.  I  have  thought 
that  such  an  officer  must  have  a  good  deal  to  do  in  this 
region." 

"  You  were  never  more  mistaken  in  your  life,"  he  re 
plied.  "  They  call  me  Squire,  but  I  have  no  more  claim 
to  the  title  than  my  Alderney  bull.  The  office  must  have 
been  abolished  some  time  ago  around  here.  Every  man 
does  about  what  is  right  in  his  own  eyes." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  do  not  like  to  hear  a  man  speak  evil 
of  his  birth-place." 


270  THE    TIM    JBUMvEK    FAl'ERS. 

"Praise  the  Lord,  I  was  born  in  New-England,  where  a 
'  Squire '  meant  something,  and  scoundrels  got  their  dues." 

"  Now,  Squire,"  said  I,  "  what  have  you  got  to  show  us  ? 
Any  new  notions  around  ?  " 

"  I  tried  an  experiment  last  year  on 

CURING   CLOVER   HAT 

and  I  would  like  to  show  you  the  result." 

He  took  us  out  to  the  barn  and  showed  us  a  bay,  per 
haps  twelve  by  thirty  feet,  from  which  he  was  feeding  his 
Alderney  herd.  It  was  well  filled  with  as  handsome 
clover  as  I  ever  saw.  If  I  was  not  afraid  of  having  my 
word  doubted,  I  should  say  the  handsomest.  It  was  cut 
down  in  the  middle  with  a  hay  knife,  and  you  could  see 
just  how  it  was  managed.  There  was  about  ten  inches  of 
clover,  and  then  about  two  inches  of  old  salt  hay,  in  alter 
nate  layers.  The  clover  had  all  the  leaves  on,  nearly,  and 
was  as  bright  and  green  as  on  the  day  it  was  put  in  the 
barn.  To  show  that  the  hay  was  as  good  as  it  looked, 
Squire  Oaks  pulled  out  a  lock  of  it,  and  also  a  handful  of 
Timothy  from  the  opposite  mow,  and  presented  both  to 
an  old  cow.  She  smelled  of  the  Timothy  first,  and  then 
opened  her  mouth  for  the  clover,  without  stopping  to  take 
a  second  sniff.  The  same  was  done  to  an  Alderney  heiier, 
who  might  not  be  supposed  to  be  so  well  versed  in  hay 
lore,  with  a  like  result.  There  was  no  mistake.  It  was 
tip-top  clover. 

u  Now,"  says  I,  "  Squire,  how  did  you  cure  it  ?  For  this 
will  do  to  tell  in  Hookertown." 

"It  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,"  says  he.  "I  cut 
the  clover  with  a  mower,  when  it  was  just  in  blossom,  and 
let  it  lie  in  the  sun  till  wilted.  I  then  put  it  in  cocks,  and 
let  it  stand  until  the  next  day,  when  I  put  it  into  the  barn. 
There  was  first  a  layer  of  salt  hay,  rather  thin,  then  a 
thick  layer  of  clover.  It  comes  out  just  as  you  see  it.  I 
think  one  ton  of  that  clover  is  worth  two  of  hay,  as  it  is 
usually  cured.  All  the  leaves  and  all  the  juices  are  there. 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  271 

The  salt  hay,  somehow,  helps  cure  it.    I  do  not  attempt  to 
explain  the  philosophy  of  it." 

Farmers  who  have  old  stacks  of  this  hay,  and  heaps  of 
refuse  straw  about  the  barn,  should  save  them,  and  try 
Squire  Oaks'  experiment.  I  guess  there  is  more  virtue  in 
the  dry  hay  than  in  the  salt.  It  helps  the  ventilation,  and 
makes  the  curing  complete. 

A  NEW  MULCH  FOR  STRAWBERRIES  was  shown  us  in 
the  garden.  This  consisted  of  sods  from  a  brake  swamp, 
cut  an  inch  or  two  thick,  with  a  spade,  so  that  they  could 
be  laid  between  the  rows.  He  had  been  draining  a  piece 
of  wet  land,  and  had  a  plenty  of  these  on  hand.  When 
fresh  cut,  they  are  free  from  seeds  of  weeds,  and  so  sour 
that  nothing  will  grow  on  them  the  first  season.  They 
are  easily  handled,  keep  the  ground  moist,  and  the  berries 
clean.  After  a  year's  exposure,  they  may  be  spaded  in,  or 
removed  to  the  manure  heap. 

TRELLIS  FOR  GRAPES. — Mr.  Oaks  has  turned  his  ledges 
to  good  account  in  training  grape  vines  all  over  them,  by 
means  of  wires.  These  ledges,  some  of  them,  present  a 
bare  surface,  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  and  as  he  could  not 
very  well  remove  them,  he  covers  them  with  a  mantle  of 
green  in  summer,  and  has  the  purple  clusters  in  autumn. 
This  is  a  timely  hint  for  the  multitude  of  improvers  in 
Westchester  county  and  elsewhere,  who  are  troubled  with 
ledges.  They  were  made  on  purpose  for  grapes. 

How  NATURE  PLANTS  A  TREE. — He  showed  us  an  ap 
ple  tree  planted  on  Nature's  plan — i.  e.,  as  near  to  the  sur 
face  as  you  can  get  it, — and  a  spot  where  a  tree  was  planted 
on  some  gardener's  plan  burying  the  roots  in  a  deep 
hole.  The  latter  spot  was  vacant,  while  the  tree  was 
flourishing,  and  had  made  a  very  broad  collar  just  above 
the  surface  of  the  soil.  Titus  Oaks,  Esq.,  laid  very  great 
stress  upon  this  mode  of  planting.  "  Nature,"  says  he, 
"  in  growing  an  apple  tree,  first  runs  the  seed  through  a 


272  TliE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPEitS. 

cow's  stomach,  and  deposits  it  in  a  thick  vegetable  pa*te, 
upon  the  surface  of  the  earth,  or  a  little  above  it.  .The 
following  spring  the  seed  sprouts  and  the  roots  find  their 
way  into  the  earth.  Such  trees  make  the  hardiest  stocks, 
and  are  the  longest  lived." 

AN  ORCHARD  UPON  A  GRAVEL  BED. — This  he  regarded 
as  one  of  the  triumphs  of  his  art.  There  was  no  mistake 
about  the  poverty  of  the  soil,  for  it  was  made  up  of  sand 
and  gravel,  as  the  adjoining  bank  showed.  No  one  had 
ever  got  a  crop  from  it  before.  There  was  just  as  little 
mistake  about  the  apple  trees.  They  were  very  thrifty, 
well  grown  trees,  and  fruitful.  The  gravel  bed  had  been 
treated  with  muck  from  an  adjoining  pond.  That  was  the 
secret. 

We  left,  highly  pleased  with  Titus  Oaks,  Esq.,  and  his 
notions.  He  made  us  promise  that  we  would  not  mention 
his  name  in  connection  with  his  improvements,  a  promise 
which  we  keep  by  taking  his  light  out  from  under  his 
bushel,  and  putting  it  upon  your  candlestick. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  April  1,  1865. 


NO.  76.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  THE  PICKLE  FEVER 
IN  HOOKERTOWN. 


MR.  EDITOR  : — u  I  knew  it  would  be  so,"  said  Mrs.  Bun 
ker,  raising  the  gold-bowed  spectacles  from  her  eyes,  as  I 
came  home  from  holding  Court  one  night,  "  I  knew  it 
would  be  so.  That  paper  is  just  like  a  whispering  gallery, 
Timothy.  Every  thing  you  do  and  say  in  Hookertown  is 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  2?o 

• 

echoed  from  one  end  of  the  land  to  the  other,  Sh  ce  you 
have  been  gone,  three  letters  have  come  about  pickles, 
and  Seth  Twiggs  and  Jake  Frink  have  been  in,  and  I  guess 
Mr.  Spooner  has  a  touch  of  the  fever,  for  he  preached 
Sunday  about  the  'Lodge  in  a  Garden  of  Cucumbers."1 

I  had  not  more  than  got  done  supper  when  Seth  Twiggs 
made  his  appearance  in  a  cloud  of  very  blue  smoke,  and 
he  had  n't  got  the  first  question  fairly  out  before  Jake 
Frink  and  Kier  from  the  White  Oaks  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  Dea.  Smith  and  Jeremiah  Sparrowgrass  follow 
ed.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  I  guess  I  shall  have  a  meetin'  to 
night,  whether  the  minister  does  or  not.  It  was  lecture 
night,  and  I  suppose  the  Deacon  stopped  in  on  his  way. 
I  am  afraid  he  did  n't  hear  the  bell,  for  he  did  n't  start 
when  it  had  done  tolling. 

"  Now,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  bringing  his  pipe  down  on 
his  knee  with  an  emphasis  that  would  have  smashed  it  if 
had  been  worth  anything,  "  Du  ye  really  think  three  hun 
dred  dollars  can  be  made  on  an  acre  of  good  Hooker- 
town  meadow,  in  pickles  ?  " 

4'  Is  it  clean  cash  ?  "  asked  Jake  Frink  with  a  dubious 
look.  "  Them  fellers  as  deals  in  pickles  is  apt  to  be  kind 
of  sharp." 

"  Du  ye  think  there  is  any  chance  for  us  up  in  White 
Oaks,  'Squire,  to  go  into  pickle  business  ?  "  inquired  Kier 
Frink,  the  hopeful  son  of  Jake. 

"  Fellow-citizens,"  says  I,  "  don't  all  talk  at  once,  and 
I'll  try  and  answer  your  questions.  I've  got  three  letters 
come  in  to-day's  mail,  on  the  pickle  business,  and  I 
haven't  had  time  to  digest  them  yet.  The  policy  of  going 
into  the  cucumber  trade  depends  altogether  upon  the 
facility  of  a  market.  You  might  grow  cucumbers  well 
enough  in  Iowa,  but  if  you  had  to  send  them  to  New 
York  to  market,  it  would  n't  pay  very  well  even  at  two 
dollars  a  hundred.  A  man  must  be  within  a  short  dis 
tance  of  a  pickle  factory  if  he  purposes  to  deliver  his  crop 


274  THE    TIM   BUNKEK   PAPERS. 

• 

from  his  own  market  wagon,  or  within  easy  reach  of  the 
factory  by  rail  or  steamer.  Steamboat  carriage  is  better 
and  cheaper  than  railroad.  Twenty-five  cents  freight  on 
a  barrel,  probably,  would  not  interfere  with  reasonable 
profits.  The  pay  of  the  pickle  men  is  as  good  as  that  of 
any  other  class  of  manufacturers.  There  are  few  in  the 
business ;  their  profits  are  supposed  to  be  large.  It  is 
ready  pay  and  clean  cash,  if  you  make  that  bargain  with 
them.  Pay  as  you  go  is  the  rule  in  pretty,  much  all  kinds 
of  business  now.  That  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  the 
war.  A  good  many  other  folks  besides  the  rebels  have 
found  out  just  where  they  stand." 

"  Where  can  we  get  seed  ?  "  asked  Dea.  Smith. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  most  important  things  in  the  busi 
ness.  I  do  not  know  of  any  one  who  makes  a  business  of 
growing  the  seed  to  sell,  but  almost  every  farmer  who  has 
a  pickle  patch  grows  his  own  seed,  and  thinks  it  a  little 
better  than  any  thing  else.  If  a  man  is  going  into  the 
pickle  business,  it  will  pay  him  to  visit  Westchester 
County.  He  can  hardly  go  amiss  of  farmers  who  have 
pickle  patches  in  Yonkers,  East  Chester,  West  Chester, 
West  Farms,  and  other  towns.  He  can  inquire  for  No- 
adiah  Tubbs,  who  will  tell  him  all  about  it.  If  he  does 
not  want  to  be  at  that  trouble,  he  should  send  to  the  near 
est  good  seed  store.  I  have  raised  fine  cucumbers  from 
just  such  seed." 

"  Do  you  salt  the  cucumbers  before  you  sell  them  ? " 
inquired  Sparrowgrass,  with  a  refreshing  greenness. 

"JSTo,  Sir.  That  is  the  manufacturer's  business.  He 
wants  fresh  picked  cucumbers  to  make  pickles  out  of.  Of 
course  you  do  not  want  tight  oak  barrels,  like  whiskey 
casks,  to  pack  your  cucumbers  in.  The  farmer  generally 
buys  up  a  lot  of  cheap  flour  barrels,  when  he  is  in  town, 
at  the  baker's  or  grocer's,  or  at  the  hotel,  and  these,  with 
a  little  coopering,  will  answer  his  purpose  for  a  single  sea- 
Bon.  They  are  sent  to  the  purchaser  or  consignee,  by  rail 


THE    TIM    BUKKEU    PAPERS.  275 

or  boat,  full  of  cucumbers,  and  sent  back  empty  by  the 
same  conveyance.  The  owner's  name  or  initials  should 
be  put  upon  them." 

"  What  sort  of  a  bargain  does  the  farmer  make  with 
the  pickle  man  ?  "  asked  Seth  Twiggs. 

"  That  is  just  as  he  can  light  upon  chances.  If  he  is 
near  the  factory,  he  agrees  to  deliver  at  so  much  per 
thousand.  If  he  sends  by  other  conveyance,  he  agrees  to 
deliver  them  at  the  nearest  depot,  or  landing,  or  to  pay 
the  freight  clear  through,  as  the  case  may  be.  The  terms 
will  vary  according  to  circumstances.  Some  prefer  to  send 
their  crop  to  a  commission  merchant  and  run  the  risk  of 
the  markets." 

"  How  about  sorting  ?  "  asked  Kier  Frink. 

il  They  commonly  have  a  shed  or  hovel  for  this  purpose 
where  all  the  cucumbers  are  brought  as  fast  as  picked,  and 
are  assorted  into  three  sizes,  the  largest  for  eating,  and  the 
two  smaller  for  pickles.  The  '  nubbins '  and  '  yellow  boys ' 
will  have  to  be  thrown  away  or  the  pickle  man  will  do  it 
for  you.  If  picked  regularly,  however,  there  will  not  be 
many  unmerchantable." 

One  of  my  correspondents  wants  to  know  if  night  soil 
is  good  manure  for  this  crop.  He  says :  "  I  have  got  261 
one-horse  loads  of  night  soil;  about  three-fourths  of  it  is 
composted  with  muck,  and  the  other  fourth  is  almost  the 
pure  article.  Shall  I  plow  in  the  former,  and  put  half  a 
shovelfull  of  the  latter  into  the  hill  ?  My  land  is  a  clay 
loam — is  that  right  ?  " 

The  trouble  with  the  pure  article  is  that  it  is  quite  too 
strong,  and  would  be  likely  to  rot  the  seed  unless  great 
pains  were  taken  to  mix  it  with  the  soil  at  the  time  of 
planting.  I  should  prefer  the  compost  in  the  hill,  and 
either  compost  the  rest  or  spread  it,  and  plow  it  in.  Such 
a  quantity  of  night  soil  ought  to  put  four  acres  in  good 
condition.  As  to  the  preparation  of  land,  look  at  Diah 
Tubbs'  views  in  back  numbers  of  the  Agriculturist.  A 


~?G  THE    TIM    BUNKEK    PAPERS. 

sandy  loam  is  considered  the  best  for  all  kinds  of  vines, 
but  heavy  crops  are  grown  on  clay  lands.  With  night 
soil  good  pickles  can  be  raised  on  any  well-drained  land. 

He  also  wants  to  know  who  are  reliable  men  engaged 
in  this  business.  In  Wilson's  Business  Directory  he  will 
find  a  list  of  pickle  dealers,  the  most  of  whom  have  fac 
tories  either  in  the  city  or  out  of  town.  Provost  &  Wells 
have  a  factory  at  West  Mt.  Yernon,  and  Broadmeadow  & 
Stout  at  Dobbs'  Ferry.  The  business  is  in  very  few  hands, 
and  judging  from  the  large  advance  made  upon  the  raw 
article,  must  yield  a  fair  profit.  Probably  there  is  room 
for  the  enlargement  of  the  business  and  for  new  men  to 
make  a  living.  Every  man  must  judge  for  himself  whom 
to  deal  with,  and  whether  the  pickle  business  will  pay. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooJcertown,  May  10,  1865. 


NO.  77.— TIM    BUNKER    ON   CURING    PICKLES 
AND  EATING  THEM. 


ME.  EDITOR  : — "  It  beats  all  what  a  fuss  folks  are  mak 
ing  about  pickles,"  said  Seth  Twiggs,  walking  into  our 
house  one  hot  July  night,  and  taking  his  seat  on  the  set 
tee,  where  he  was  soon  lost  in  his  favorite  cloud  of  smoke. 
"  One  would  think,"  he  continued,  "  that  cucumbers  was  a 
new  crop  just  imported  from  China,  or  some  other  furreign 
parts,  insted  of  bein  as  old  as  the  Bible.  They're  bavin' 
a  run  about  equal  to  Multicaulis  and  Rohan  potato,  I'm 
bound  to  say." 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  277 

Speaking  of  Seth  Twiggs'  smoking,  reminds  me  that  I 
owe  an  apology  to  your  readers,  perhaps,  to  all  the  anti- 
tobacco  part  of  them  in  particular,  that  I  have  said  so 
much  about  his  habit.  For  you  see  the  thing  is  mighty 
catching.  No  sooner  had  I  got  the  fashion  set  in  the 
Agriculturist  than  all  the  letter  writers  in  the  political  pa 
pers  took  it  up,  and  every  time  they  bring  out  their  hero, 
General  Grant,  they  must  tell  just  how  many  times  and 
how  he  smokes.  You  see,  the  General  has  not  made  his 
appearance  in  public  since  he  got  to  be  a  great  man 
without  his  cigar.  The  public  are  supposed  to  be  in 
terested  in  knowing  just  the  length  of  his  cigar, 
whether  it  is  a  long  nine  or  not,  its  color,  its  cost,  and 
the  particular  brand  the  General  uses.  Jake  Frink  says, 
uthe  tobacco  men  have  bought  up  the  General  or  his 
letter  writer,  and  all  this  fuss  about  his  smoking  is  an 
advertising  dodge  to  get  their  cigars  into  market.  It 
is  a  mean  abolishun  trick  to  raise  the  price  of  tobacco,  and 
he  'spects  it'll  git  to  be  so  high  that  common  folks  can't 
have  a  chaw  except  on  Fourth  of  July,  or  some  sich  special 
occasion." 

I  think  there  is  considerable  sense  in  what  Jake  says. 
Hookertown  don't  care  a  rush  whether  the  General  smokes 
or  not,  whether  he  smokes  dollar  cigars  or  steeped  cabbage 
leaves,  whether  he  smokes  quietly  or  puffs  away  like  a 
locomotive.  The  General's  business  has  been  fighting,  I 
take  it,  for  the  last  few  years,  and  if  he  had  used  half  the 
tobacco  the  letter  writers  have  gin  him  credit  for,  he 
wouldn't  have  had  any  brains  left  to  plan  a  campaign. 
They  have  run  the  thing  into  the  ground. 

Seth  Twiggs'  case  is  different.  His  business  is  smoking. 
If  he  has  any  other  business,  nobody  has  been  able  to  find 
it  out.  He  cultivates  a  little  land,  works  in  the  garden 
some,  and  tinkers  round  a  good  deal ;  but  this  is  only  his 
amusement.  The  solid  work  on  which  he  lays  himself  out 
is  smoking.  Now  a  man  who  assumes  "the  solemn  re- 


278  THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPEES. 

sponsibility "  of  writing  for  the  papers,  as  Mr.  Spooner 
would  say,  must  regard  the  truth  of  history.  The  fact  is, 
the  Hookertown  public  wouldn't  know  Seth  Twiggs  with 
out  his  pipe,  and  I  had  to  introduce  Seth's  pipe  or  say 
nothing  about  him. 

I  like  to  have  forgot  Seth  on  the  settee.  "  I'll  bet  there 
is  fifty  acres  in  pickles  in  Hookertown,  this  year,"  he 
added. 

"  Some  folks  are  in  great  trouble  as  to  how  they'll  cure 
'em,"  I  remarked. 

"  Du  tell !"  exclaimed  Polly  Frink,  "  I  thought  every 
body  knew  how  to  salt  down  cowcumbers." 

"  Not  by  a  jug  full,"  said  I.  "  It  is  treated  as  a  great 
secret  at  the  pickle  factories,  and  stores,  and  you  might  as 
well  undertake  to  get  ile  out  of  a  Wall  Street  Petroleum 
Company,  as  to  get  any  light  on  the  curing  process  out 
of  them." 

"  I  guess  you  didn't  go  to  the  right  place,  Esq.  Bunker," 
said  Seth.  "  For  when  I  went  down  to  the  city  to  market 
my  pickles  I  went  all  over  the  factory." 

"  And  Avhat  did  you  see  ?"  I  asked.  "  Well,  I  saw  a  lot 
of  vats,  barrels,  kegs,  jars,  and  bottles,  some  of  'em  full 
and  some  of  'em  empty."  "  Did  you  ask  any  questions 
and  did  you  get  civil  answers  ?  "  "  Sartainly  I  did,  lots 
on  'em.  And  I  found  out  there  wa'n't  any  secret  about  the 
brine,  for  it  is  the  same  rule  my  grandmother  used  to  go 
by,  and  I  guess  it  is  about  the  same  thing  every  house 
keeper  in  Hookertown  uses  to-day, — brine  strong  enough  to 
bear  an  egg,  and  the  little  pickles  to  lie  in  two  weeks,  and 
the  big  ones,  three ;  that  is  about  the  whole  of  it,  with  a 
little  variation  to  suit  circumstances." 

"  Jest  so,"  said  Mrs.  Jake  Frink ;  "  that  is  my  rule,  and 
I  never  knew  it  to  fail.  I've  got  pickles  two  years  old 
now,  and  they  are  jest  as  good  as  ever.  Ye  see,  I  allers 
keeps  my  barrel  open  at  the  top,  with  a  round  board  and 
a  stone  to  keep  the  pickles  in  the  brine.  For  a  barrel  of 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  279 

pickles  you  want  jest  about  a  peck  of  coarse  salt.  Turk's 
Island  is  the  best,  dissolved  in  water.  That  will  jest 
about  float  an  egg.  If  I  want  to  keep  them  a  long  time 
in  the  brine,  I  look  at  'em  occasionally,  and  add  a  little 
more  salt,  if  I  think  they  need  it." 

"  And  what  is  to  be  done  when  you  want  to  put  them 
into  vinegar  ?  "  I  enquired. 

"  Oh,  that  is  easy  enough.  You  jest  scald  the  cucum 
bers  in  a  brass  kettle,  and  let  them  stand  a  few  hours, 
changing  the  water  two  or  three  times  to  take  the  salt  out. 
You  can  tell  by  the  taste  when  they  are  fresh  enough." 

"  What  do  you  have  a  brass  kettle  for  ?  " 

"  They  say  it  makes  'em  green.  My  mother  always 
used  a  brass  kettle." 

"  And  how  is  it  about  the  poison  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  never  heard  of  it's  hurting  any  body.  If  you 
have  good  cider  vinegar,  the  green  pickles  will  be  whole 
some  enough.  Every  body  in  Hookertown  cures  'em  in 
this  way,  and  we  are  not  an  ailin'  set  of  people." 

Aunt  Polly  is  right  about  the  vessel  for  freshening  the 
pickles.  A  good  deal  more  depends  upon  the  vinegar 
than  upon  the  vessel,  and  I  suspect  the  brass  kettle  with 
its  trace  of  verdigris  is  made  to  answer  for  all  the  atro 
cious  compounds  they  put  into  the  vinegar.  The  slops  of 
the  rum  shops  and  drinking  saloons,  sulphuric,  and  other 
mineral  acids,  are  put  in  liberally  to  give  sharpness  to  the 
vinegar.  This  must  be  injurious  to  the  stomach,  and  I 
suspect  it  is  to  prevent  the  public  from  learning  the  com 
position  of  the  vinegar,  that  the  pickle  men  affect  so  much 
mystery  about  their  business. 

Farmers  have  no  apology  for  using  any  thing  but  home 
made  vinegar  and  pickles.  They  can  always  have  the 
best,  and  plenty.  A  cucumber  is  little  else  than  thickened 
water,  a  sort  of  sponge  to  hold  vinegar.  If  good,  it  sup 
plies  the  vegetable  acid  for  which  the  system  has  so  strong 
a  craving  in  hot  weather.  The  doctors  tell  us  it  regulates 


280  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

the  bile,  and  for  once  I  guess  the  doctors  are  about  right. 
In  the  absence  of  fruits,  which  are  not  always  to  be  had, 
keep  pickles  on  your  table  the  year  round. 
Tours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 
Hookertown,  July  10,  1865. 


78.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  THE  COTTON  FEVER 
AND  EMIGRATION  DOWN  SOUTH. 


MR.  EDITOR. — Your  notice  in  the  May  number  took  me 
considerably  by  surprise.  The  fact  is,  I  have  been  so 
awful  busy  with  my  own  aifairs,  and  Hookertown  matters, 
that  I  had  pretty  much  forgotten  the  world  outside. 
Court  business,  of  course,  I  had  to  attend  to.  And  then  I 
never  had  so  much  advice  to  give  in  cases  out  of  Court, 
since  I  have  been  Justice  of  the  Peace.  I  have  pretty  much 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  am  worth  more  to  keep 
folks  out  of  lawsuits  than  to  settle  cases  after  they  come 
into  Court. 

You  see,  Hookertown  has  been  in  a  great  stew  all  win 
ter,  about  going  down  South  and  raising  cotton,  and  be 
twixt  the  meetings  and  the  private  talks  around  to  the 
houses,  there  has  not  been  much  else  done  or  thought  on. 
You  know  our  son  John  went  to  the  war,  and  a  lot  more 
of  the  Hookertown  boys,  and  they  came  home  full  of  the 
matter,  and  they  have  kept  the  pot  a  boilin'  ever  since. 
To  hear  them  talk  about  the  Cotton  States  you  would 
think  there  was  never  such  a  land  lying  out  a'doors  any 
where.  Canaan  wa'n't  a  touch  to  it.  If  it  didn't  flow 


THE    TIM    BU.NKEK    PAPEUS.  :2b>l 

with  niilk  and  honey,  it  did  with  cotton  bales,  which  was 
enough  sight  better.  Their  heads  were  completely  turned 
with  the  tall  timber,  the  smooth,  rich  land,  the  magnolia 
blossoms,  the  cypresses,  and  the  live  oaks,  and  (would  you 
believe  it !)  the  pretty  girls.  Every  one  of  'em  seems  to 
have  come  home  as  uneasy  as  a  fish  out  of  water.  It  is 
mighty  dull  work  squatting  down  in  the  land  of  steady 
habits  after  one  has  been  tearing  through  the  Cotton 
States  with  Billy  Sherman  and  his  troopers.  John,  for 
the  first  few  days,  said  it  seemed  as  if  he  should  suffocate 
in  Hookertown — there  was  nothing  doing,  or  going  to 
be  done. 

I  talked  with  the  boys  in  general,  and  my  boy  in  par 
ticular,  and  argued  agin  the  emigration  scheme,  and  the 
more  I  argued  the  more  sot  they  were  in  their  way  of 
thinking  ;  and  that  wa'n't  the  worst  of  it,  for  they  seemed 
to  infect  every  body  with  the  Southern  fever,  and  one 
while,  I  thought  they'd  carry  off  Hookertown  bodily — 
Mrs.  Bunker  and  the  grandchildren,  and  there  wouldn't 
be  any  body  left  but  Mr.  Spooner,  myself,  and  a  few  other 
old  fogies.  As  it  is,  Hookertown  has  lost  some  of  its  best 
citizens,  as  well  as  some  others  that  we  could  comfort- 
abler  spare. 

I  felt  very  bad  when  John  stated  the  case  pretty  soon 
after  he  got  home.  "  Now,"  says  I,  "  my  son,  what  is  the 
use  of  your  going  down  to  Mississippi,  to  farm  it,  when 
you  have  got  three  hundred  acres  of  as  handsome  land  as 
lies  in  the  Valley  of  the  Connecticut,  or  as  lies  out  doors 
anywhere,  as  to  that  matter.  We  old  folks  have  been 
thinking,  when  you  got  back  from  the  wars  you  would 
settle  down  on  the  old  farm,  and  hand  down  the  Bunker 
mansion  and  name  to  your  children.  It  is  kind  o'  weak  in 
us,  but  we  thought  we  should  have  somebody  to  lean  on, 
when  we  got  a  little  older.  I  can't  always  hold  the  plow, 
and  mother's  eyes  will  get  past  fine  sewing  and  clear 
starching,  one  of  these  days." 


282  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

There  was  a  tear  in  John's  eye  as  he  got  a  glimpse  of 
the  picture  we  had  been  looking  at  during  his  long  ab 
sence,  and  he  said  : — 

"  I  expect  to  do  jest  as  you  say,  father.  I  have  always 
been  brought  up  to  mind,  and  I  expect  to  mind  you  now. 
You  and  mother  felt  very  bad  about  my  going  to  the 
war,  but  on  the  whole,  thought  it  was  best ;  and  when 
you  come  to  look  at  this  emigration  down  South  on  all  its 
sides,  you  may  think  it  is  just  about  as  necessary  for  me 
to  go  down  there  now  as  it  was  three  years  ago.  I  s'pose 
I  shall  feel  worse  about  leaving  Hookertown  than  you 
will,  for  you  will  have  the  dear  old  sod  under  your  feet, 
and  all  the  associations  of  your  lives  around  you,  the  old 
home,  the  old  church,  and  old  friends,  while  I  shall  go 
mostly  among  strangers.  You  have  taught  me  not  to  fol 
low  my  feelings  always,  but  to  do  my  duty,  and  the  pre 
cept  and  example  have  struck  in  pretty  deep.  Mr.  Spooner 
has  preached  that  way,  and  I  have  come  to  believe  it.  I 
didn't  join  the  regiment  because  I  had  any  appetite  for 
fighting  or  seeing  sights ;  I  thought  Hookertown  was  a 
part  of  my  country,  and  the  rebs  were  to  be  kept  out  of  it. 
If  I  didn't  go  and  meet  them  on  Southern  soil,  they  might 
come  here,  and  be  watering  their  horses  in  the  Connecti 
cut,  which  would  not  be  so  pleasant.  We  who  went 
down  there  to  fight  have  given  you  a  life  lease  of  your 
peaceful  homes,  and  we  feel  as  if  we  had  a  right  to  go  and 
carve  out  homes  for  ourselves,  in  the  land  we  have  won 
by  the  sword.  The  boys  talked  it  all  over  before  they 
were  mustered  out,  and  we  mean  to  go  back,  unless  it  is 
clear  that  Providence  is  against  the  movement. 

"  You  "who  are  on  the  stage  have  had  your  chance,  and 
help'd  make  Hookertown  what  it  is.  You  have  cultivated 
and  improved  your  farms,  built  your  houses,  and  estab 
lished  your  schools  and  churches,  and  got  every  thing  go 
ing  in  good  shape.  The  land  is  all  occupied,  and  there 
isn't  room  here  for  more  farmers.  The  farms  are  too 


THE    TIM    BUXKKK    PAPERS. 

small  already.  Your  population  will  only  grow  in  the 
cities  and  villages." 

"  But  who  is  going  to  have  my  farm  when  I'm  through 
with  it  ?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  father,  there  is  Timothy  Bunker  Slocum,  a 
smart  boy  in  his  first  pair  of  boots,  and  big  enough  to 
ride  a  horse  and  go  to  mill  already.  Sally  thinks  she's  go 
ing  to  send  him  to  college  and  make  a  minister  of  him, 
but  unless  I'm  a  good  deal  mistaken  the  Lord  has  made  a 
farmer  of  him  from  the  start,  and  if  Sally  undertakes  to 
turn  him  off  that  track,  she'll  find  she's  having  a  sharp 
fight  with  the  Almighty  and  give  it  up.  These  things 
run  in  the  blood,  and  the  Bunkers  have  always  stuck  to 
the  soil,  and  haven't  amounted  to  much  in  any  other  call 
ing.  Little  Tim  takes  to  a  horse  as  naturally  as  a  young 
Arab,  and  his  voice  has  just  the  right  coop  for  driving 
oxen.  He  is  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  you  ought 
not  to  feel  very  bad  if  a  grandson  takes  care  of  the 
Bunker  mansion  when  you  have  done  with  it. 

"  As  I  was  saying,  you  have  had  your  chance  to  make  a 
home  and  build  up  society  here.  We  want  to  take  our 
chance  down  South  where  there  is  plenty  of  room.  The 
South  wants  people,  New  England  people,  and  brains 
especially,  more  than  anything  else.  It  is  almost  a  wil 
derness,  with  only  a  few  little  clearings  and  scratches  up 
on  its  surface.  Its  worn-out  and  abandoned  fields  are  on 
ly  worn  out  upon  the  surface.  The  riches  of  the  soil  are 
hardly  touched  yet.  The  forests  are  magnificent,  and  the 
climate  probably  quite  as  healthful  as  the  Valley  of  the 
Connecticut,  when  it  was  first  settled.  It  seems  a  pity 
that  it  should  lie  waste  any  longer.  We  want  to  start  a 
new  Hookertown  down  there,  and  are  willing  to  take  our 
chances  of  soil  and  climate.  What  is  the  use  of  conquer 
ing  Canaan  unless  the  people  go  over  Jordan  and  possess 
the  land  ?" 

John  said  this,  and  a  good  deal  more  in  the  same  vein, 


•284  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

and,  as  Mr.  Spooner  would  say,  there  was  in  it  consid 
erable  food  for  reflection.  The  more  I  argued,  the  warmer 
he  grew.  It  was  just  like  trying  to  put  out  a  volcano 
with  a  squirt  gun.  "  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Bunker,  with  a  sigh 
after  John  had  gone  out,  "  He  isn't  a  boy  any  longer, 
Timothy.  It  is  of  no  use  talking.  The  fire  burns  in  him, 
and  who  knows  but  the  Lord  hns  kindled  it  ?" 

I  couldn't  answer  that.  It  was  pretty  clear  that  fire 
was  there,  and  burning  strong,  and  it  seems  to  be  spread 
ing  all  through  this  region.  It  is  a  big  subject,  and  of  a 
good  deal  of  importance  to  your  readers,  and  with  your 
permission  I  shall  have  to  load  and  fire  agin  on  it. 
Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  April  15th,  1866. 


79.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  THE  COTTON  FEVER 
AND  EMIGRATION  DOWN   SOUTH. 


MR.  EDITOR. — I  was  a  good  deal  taken  aback  by  my 
talk  with  John,  about  which  I  wrote  you  in  my  last.  You 
see,  Mrs.  Bunker  and  I  had  never  thought  of  any  thing 
else  for  him  than  our  own  home  in  Hookertown,  and  that 
he  would  want  to  live  and  die  in  the  house  in  which  he 
was  born.  We  had  not  considered  what  a  change  three 
years  was  to  make  in  him.  He  went  away  a  boy ;  he  came 
back  a  man,  with  notions  of  his  own,  and  the  reasons  to 
back  'em.  There  was  no  disguising  the  fact  that  it  was 
something  more  than  a  boyish  freak  that  he  had  taken,  to 
carve  out  for  himself  a  new  home  in  the  sunny  South.  I 
turned  the  thing  over  in  my  mind,  and  I  could  not  get 


THE   TIM    BUSKER   PAPERS.  285 

round  the  argument.  I  bad  had  my  chance  in  Hooker- 
town,  and  made  my  own  home  and  fortune  without  any 
boosting.  Why  shouldn't  he  have  his  choice  in  a  spot  of 
his  own  choosing  ?  He  has  seen  the  land  and  tried  its 
climate,  and  was  capable  of  judging  for  himself.  If  he 
could  not  stay  at  home  without  a  feeling  of  constraint, 
why  the  sooner  he  was  off  the  better.  A  contented  mind 
is  a  continual  feast,  and  without  that  a  man  must  be  a 
drudge  anywhere. 

So  we  give  up  arguing,  and  concluded  that  John  had 
quire  as  good  a  right  to  dispose  of  himself  as  we  had.  If 
he  felt  he  had  a  mission  down  South  it  might  be  as  sacred 
as  any  other,  and  it  didn't  become  us  to  stand  in  the 
Lord's  way.  Perhaps  He  had  something  better  in  store 
for  John  than  Hookertown.  They  say  old  people,  and 
some  that  are  not  quite  so  old,  come  to  think  that  they 
live  exactly  in  the  center  of  creation,  and  that  there  is  no 
spot  quite  equal  to  their  town  and  their  part  of  it.  Even 
Mr.  Spooner  preached  his  New  Year's  sermon  on  being 
"  Content  with  such  things  as  you  have,"  and  undertook 
to  show  that  the  Western  hemisphere  was  the  best  part  of 
the  world,  that  the  North  American  Continent  was 
greatly  superior  to  the  South,  that  the  United  States  was 
the  best  part  of  the  Continent,  that  Connecticut  stood 
head  and  shoulders  above  all  other  States,  and  Hooker- 
town  was  the  cream  of  the  land  of  steady  habits.  I  don't 
want  to  stir  up  the  jealousy  of  Boston,  or  any  other  res 
pectable  village,  but  I  endorse  Mr.  Spooner's  opinion.  I 
thought  all  the  while  he  was  a  preaching  that  he  had  a 
squint  toward  the  folks  who  were  so  fast  for  going  down 
South — and  he  owned  as  much  afterwards.  But  preach 
ing  won't  save  a  man  who  has  got  the  cotton  fever.  You 
might  as  well  undertake  to  preach  total  depravity  out  of 
him.  It  will  work  out. 

u  D'ye  'spose,  Squire,  there's  any  chance  to  make  money 
in  this  cotton  business  ?"  asked  Jake  Frink  this  morning. 


286  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

"Certainly,"  said  I.  "  Growing  cotton  is  just  like  any 
other  business.  Some  men  who  have  capital  and  skill  will 
go  into  it  and  prosper,  and  others  will  fail,  for  the  same 
reasons  that  they  would  fail  in  any  thing.  It  does  not  re 
quire  any  more  intelligence  to  manage  a  cotton  plantation 
than  it  does  to  work  a  northern  form,  and  hardly  so  much. 
It  has  always  been  done  by  the  rudest  kind  of  labor. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  the  skill  acquired  in  growing  the 
dozen  or  more  crops  we  raise  here  in  Hookertown  will 
come  to  a  good  market  in  the  South." 

"  How  much  capital  is  required  to  raise  cotton  ?" 

"  Just  as  much  as  to  raise  corn  or  potatoes,  and  the 
more  one  has  the  better  he  can  make  it  pay,  up  to  the 
point  where  he  can  command  all  the  labor  he  can  see  to. 
There  is  no  difficulty  in  growing  cotton  in  a  small  way,  if 
you  are  where  you  can  use  another's  gin  and  press.  But 
the  better  way  is  to  have  a  large  plantation,  and  use  your 
own  gin  and  press." 

"  I  like  the  notion  of  using  your  own  gin,  Squire,  for  I 
don't  think  I  should  stand  much  of  a  chance  of  borrowing, 
unless  folks  down  there  are  different  from  the  Hookertown 
people." 

"  Very  likely.  But  the  gin  you  have  in  mind  wont 
help  the  cotton  harvest  any  more  than  it  does  the  hay." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see,"  said  Jake  despondingly,  "  as 
there's  going  to  be  any  chance  for  me  down  there.  Kier 
is  going,  and  pretty  much  all  the  folks  in  the  White  Oaks, 
and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  go  along,  but  if  it  takes 
such  a  heap  of  money,  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up." 

I  could  not  encourage  neighbor  Frink  to  join  the  expe 
dition,  for  he  and  the  class  of  men  to  which  he  belongs 
will  not  succeed  either  North  or  South.  They  are  a  good 
way  past  their  prime,  and  their  habits  are  bad. 

But  young  men  of  good  habits  need  not  hesitate  to  go, 
even  though  they  have  small  capital.  Skillful  labor  will 
for  a  long  time  command  a  good  price  there,  if  labor  is  all 


THE   TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  287 

that  one  has  to  put  into  the  market.  The  unfriendliness 
of  the  climate  to  the  white  laborer  is  greatly  overestimated. 
This  story  has  been  industriously  circulated  by  interested 
parties,  as  an  apology  for  slave  labor.  When  I  took  Mrs. 
Bunker  down  to  New  Orleans  seven  years  ago,  I  found 
the  most  of  the  labor  about  the  wharves  and  cotton  presses 
was  performed  by  men  of  European  birth.  Irishmen  and 
Germans  were  plenty  as  laborers  and  mechanics,  and  they 
suffered  as  little  inconvenience  from  the  heat  as  Africans. 
When  I  went  up  on  to  the  cotton  plantations,  I  found  the 
planters  employing  Irishmen  to  ditch  and  drain  where 
they  would  not  put  their  negroes.  I  found  Scotchmen 
and  Xew  Englanders  settled  there,  and  enduring  the 
climate  perfectly  well.  It  is  well  known  that  multitudes 
of  Germans  and  Hungarians  have  gone  into  Texas,  still 
further  South,  and  there  raise  cotton  quite  as  safely  and 
more  economically  than  it  could  be  done  by  slave  labor. 
Our  soldiers  have  stood  the  climate  well,  and  it  is  my 
private  opinion  that  labor  in  a  cotton  field  isn't  any  harder 
or  more  dangerous  than  fighting.  That's  the  opinion  of 
the  boys  Avho  have  spent  two  and  three  years  there  in 
places  where  they  couldn't  always  take  care  of  themselves. 
I  guess  it  will  do  to  risk  them  when  they  can  build  houses 
of  their  own,  and  have  the  comforts  of  northern  homes 
around  them.  The  fact  is,  climate  has  the  credit  of  a  good 
deal  of  mortality  that  really  belongs  to  whiskey.  Of 
course  in  clearing  up  a  new  country  there  will  be  exposure 
to  malaria  and  sickness.  But  when  the  forests  are  cleared 
and  the  swamps  are  drained,  as  they  will  be  by  northern 
skill,  the  risk  of  health  and  life  will  deter  no  one  from  go 
ing  South. 

Capital  will  be  the  great  want  of  the  emigrant  to  the 
South.  There  is  plenty  of  cheap  land  to  be  bought,  and 
plantations  enough  to  be  cheaply  leased.  Money  must  be 
had  for  this,  and  for  stock  and  labor.  According  to  John's 
figuring,  a  man  wants  forty-four  dollars  for  every  acre  in 


288  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

cotton.     If  he  was  going  in  for  500  acres  of  cotton,  the 
outlay  would  be 

For  stock,  seed,  and  implements $6  305 

Supplies  for  60  hands— say  1,200  bushels  of  corn,  120  barrels  com 
meal,  84  barrels  pork,  15  bushels  of  salt,  10  months  wages  at 

15  dollars  a  month,  and  incidentals  14,875 

For  rent  of  land  at  10  dollars  per  acre 5,000 

$26,180 

The  stock  and  implements  would  be  worth  three-fourths 
their  first  cost  or  more  at  the  close  of  the  year,  and  this 
amount  may  be  deducted  for  the  second  year's  operations. 
Sometimes  the  cotton  can  be  sold  by  Oct.  1st,  and  the 
money  realized  go  to  pay  the  expenses  of  the  year. 

The  returns  for  such  an  investment  will  of  course  vary 
with  the  yield  and  the  market  price.  The  average  crop, 
as  planters  estimated  it  under  the  old  system,  was — one 
bale  upon  alluvian,  two-thirds  of  a  bale  upon  "  hard-bot 
tom  lands,"  and  half  a  bale  upon  upland.  With  free  labor 
this  yield  would  probably  be  exceeded.  The  bale  is  rated 
at  400  pounds.  At  a  bale  per  acre,  and  cotton  at  30  cents, 
the  crop  on  500  acres  would  be  worth  $60,000.  At  a  half 
bale  per  acre  it  would  be  worth  $30,000.  The  lowest  es 
timate  gives  near  fifty  per  cent  profit ;  the  highest,  near 
three  hundred. 

Here  is  great  temptation  for  northern  skill  and  capital. 
With  any  thing  like  a  fair  chance,  money  must  be  made 
at  it.  It  isn't  strange  that  the  cotton  fever  rages  and 
carries  off  our  people..  The  boys  have  all  started,  and  I 
suspect  the  girls  will — be  sent  for. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEK,  ESQ 

Hookertown,  Aug.  16th,  1866. 


THE    TIM    BUXKER    PAPERS.  289 

NO.   80.— TBI   BUNKER   ON   THE   FOOD    QUES 
TION. 


"  I  knew  we  should  catch  it  to-day,"  said  Seth  Twiggs, 
as  he  came  into  our  house  on  the  evening  of  Thanksgiving 
Day,  and  seating  himself  comfortably  upon  the  settle, 
blew  a  ring  of  smoke  out  of  his  mouth,  as  if  it  had  been 
shot  out  of  a  rifle.  "  The  Parson  ginerally  hits  the  nail 
on  the  head,  and  hit  it  square  to-day,  no  mistake.  \Ye 
have  sent  off  too  many  of  our  boys  to  the  city.  There 
isn't  so  much  breadstuff  raised  in  Hookertown  as  there 
was  fifty  years  ago,  and  if  it  keeps  on  at  this  rate,  some 
body  has  got  to  starve  by  and  by." 

"  That  is  to  say,  if  every  place  is  just  like  Hookertown," 
I  responded. 

Neighbor  Twiggs'  remark  had  reference  to  Mr.  Spoon- 
er's  Thanksgiving  sermon,  which  was  pretty  much  like 
all  his  sermons,  whether  on  Sundays  or  not,  "  a  word  in 
season."  You  see,  Mr.  Spooner,  like  myself,  belongs  to 
the  old  school  of  folks,  who  have  got  so  accustomed  to 
making  up  our  own  minds  on  public  questions,  that  we 
can't  afford  to  take  our  opinions  second-hand.  You  see, 
most  people  around  here  in  Connecticut  have  got  a  dread 
ful  hankering  after  city  life  and  fashions.  They  want 
something  better  than  farming  for  their  sons  and  daughters, 
though,  according  to  my  notion,  farming,  taking  the  long 
run,  pays  better  than  any  other  calling  upon  the  face  of 
the  earth.  The  boys  that  grow  up  around  here  ar"e  smart, 
and  would  probably  do  well  at  almost  any  thing,  if  they 
had  a  fair  chance.  But  Hookertown  can't  hold  'em  any 
more  than  a  pot  can  hold  boiling  water.  Some  of  them 
have  gone  down  South  to  try  their  fortunes,  some  to 
the  West,  but  more  to  the  city,  which  threatens  to  swallow 


290  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

up  the  country,  which  is  a  good  deal  like  a  man  swallow 
ing  his  own  stomach.  You  see,  this  state  of  things  makes 
rather  a  dull  look  for  the  old  parish,  and  worries  the  min 
ister,  and  it  works  out  in  his  sermons  on  Thanksgivings, 
and  Fasts,  and  sometimes  on  Sundays.  Some  grumble 
about  political  preaching,  and  secular  preaching,  etc.,  but 
for  my  part,  if  a  man  has  got  any  thing  to  say  to  make 
folks  better,  I  never  could  see  why  it  wa'n't  jest  as  well  to 
say  it  on  Sunday  as  any  other  time.  But  the  grumbling 
don't  trouble  Mr.  Spooner  much.  He's  as  independent  as  a 
wood-chopper,  and  knows  he  can  get  his  bread  and  take 
care  of  himself,  if  the  Hookertown  people  turn  him  out  of 
the  pulpit  to-morrow,  which  they  have  no  notion  of  doing. 
He  speaks  right  square  out,  and  nobody  has  any  more 
doubt  as  to  which  side  of  a  question  he  is  on,  than  they 
have  about  sunrise. 

Well,  you  see  this  food  question  is  what  the  philoso 
phers  call  a  poser.  If  bread  and  meat  are  all  the  while  get 
ting  dearer,  and  labor  is  growing  cheaper,  and  that  is  the 
settled  tendency  of  society,  you  see  the  time  is  coining 
when  labor  wont  buy  bread,  and  somebody  must  perish. 
That  is  the  way  things  are  working  now,  and  wise  men 
should  be  looking  for  a  remedy. 

Mr.  Spooner  showed  this  very  clearly.  It  has  been  the 
tendency  in  Europe  for  a  great  many  years — England 
hasn't  raised  her  own  bread  stuffs  for  more  than  80  years. 
The  great  mass  of  her  people  are  gathered  in  cities  and 
large  manufacturing  towns,  and  there  is  not  land  enough 
left  to  raise  a  full  supply  of  food  for  her  population,  even 
with  their  improved  husbandry.  She  has  to  bring  large 
quantities  of  wheat  and  other  grains  from  the  ports  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  from  across  the  Atlantic,  to  make  up 
the  deficiency.  Now,  if  there  should  be  short  crops  in 
these  countries  and  in  America,  or  if  she  should  be  at  war 
with  enemies  strong  enough  to  blockade  her  ports,  nothing 
could  prevent  great  distress  and  starvation. 


THE    TIM   BUNKER   PAPEKS.  291 

The  same  social  disease  is  beginning  to  work  in  this 
country.  The  price  of  food  has  more  than  doubled  within 
a  very  few  years,  not  only  in  cities  but  in  the  farming  dis 
tricts.  Flour  in  Hookertown  has  been  selling  this  fall  at 
$15  a  barrel,  butter  at  45  cents,  and  beefsteak  at  30  cents 
per  lb.,  and  these  things  are  just  about  a  fair  sample  of 
everything  else.  Eight  years  ago  these  things  could  have 
been  bought  for  less  than  half  the  money.  This  shows 
that  mouths  have  multiplied  faster  than  food.  There  are 
more  consumers  than  producers.  Farm  labor  in  the  same 
time  has  increased  in  value,  but  it  has  not  kept  pace  with 
the  increased  price  of  food.  Wheat  has  gone  up  from  $1 
to  $2.50  a  bushel — labor  from  five  Yankee  shillings  to 
nine',  which  is  an  increase  of  more  than  one-half,  and  the 
labor  is  not  near  so  good.  The  native  born  hired  man  of 
a  generation  ago,  who  worked  for  $12  a  month  and  board, 
the  year  round,  has  pretty  much  disappeared,  and  we  have 
in  his  stead  the  unskilled  immigrant.  This  shows  that  la 
bor  is  not  comparatively  as  well  rewarded.  His  day's 
work  will  not  buy  him  as  many  comforts  as  it  did  20  years 
ago.  This  shows  that  something  is  "  rotten  in  Denmark," 
for  the  condition  of  the  laboring  class,  and  not  that  of  the 
rich,  is  the  measure  of  the  prosperity  of  a  country.  It  is 
a  bad  state  of  society  where  only  a  few  are  growing  rich, 
and  the  many  are  just  getting  a  living  or  suifering  for  the 
comforts  of  life. 

Then,  Mr.  Spooner  said,  the  Societies  in  the  cities  for 
the  aid  of  children,  were  another  indication  of  the  same 
evil.  Thousands  are  left  every  year  in  circumstances  of 
extreme  want,  and  there  is  no  efficient  remedy  for  their 
case  but  to  find  homes  for  them  in  the  country,  where  they 
can  help  themselves.  Thousands  are  sent  off  every  year 
through  these  Societies,  and  a  little  is  thus  done  to  restore 
the  disturbed  balance  of  society. 

The  pith  of  the  discourse  was,  that  Hookertown  was  the 
center  of  the  universe,  that  farming  was  the  best  business, 

13 


292  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

that  those  who  were  engaged  in  it  should  be  content  with 
such  things  as  they  had,  and  be  thankful  for  them.  He 
had  some  sly  thrusts  at  clam-shell  bonnets,  silks,  satins, 
and  ribbons,  fast  men,  and  fast  women,  and  the  general 
extravagance  of  the  times.  These,  I  suppose,  were  meant 
as  sauce  for  the  Thanksgiving  turkey,  and  to  help  diges 
tion. 

"  Well,  Squire,  what  are  you  gwine  to  do  about  it  ? 
Food  is  getting  higher  every  year,  and  labor  don't  keep 
up  with  it.  The  rich  are  growing  richer,  and  the  poor 
poorer.  What  are  you  gwine  to  do  about  it?"  asked 
Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  knocked  out  the  ashes  of  his  third  pipe 
and  loaded  again. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I  am  not  going  to  whine  about  it.  Of 
all  remedies  for  a  great  public  evil  that  of  whining  is  the 
poorest.  I  have  faith  to  believe  that  there  is  some  way 
of  deliverance  from  this  and  all  other  social  evils.  The 
high  price  of  food  is  not  going  to  last  forever  among  this 
great  people,  with  territory  enough  to  raise  breadstuff's 
for  the  world,  were  it  only  half  tilled. 

"All  that  Mr.  Spooner  says  is  as  true  as  preaching. 
Things  are  a  little  unsettled  just  now,  but  they  will  come 
right  after  awhile.  I  have  noticed  that  there  is  a  tendency 
in  Christian  society  to  correct  its  own  evils.  Sometimes 
we  have  an  outbreak  of  burglaries,  bank  robberies,  and 
shop-lifting,  and  it  seems  as  if  society  was  going  to  ruin. 
But  when  the  people  get  waked  up,  and  a  few  of  the 
thieves  are  convicted  and  sent  to  State's  Prison,  the  times 
improve  wonderfully.  People  are  not  going  to  live  in 
miserable  tenement  houses,  and  suffer  all  the  miseries  of 
city  poverty  without  learning  something.  Native  born 
Americans  certainly  are  not.  I  have  noticed  that  many 
go  to  the  city,  do  not  succeed  there,  and  come  back  again, 
wiser,  if  not  better  men.  They  find  that  their  genius  does 
not  lie  in  the  direction  of  trade,  but  they  have  a  decided 
tact  for  making  corn  and  potatoes  grow.  They  support 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  293 

their  families  comfortably,  and  on  the  whole,  are  no  worse 
for  their  city  experience.  Then  I  have  noticed  again,  that 
a  good  many  who  succeed  in  the  city,  acquire  a  compe 
tence,  and  before  they  are  spoiled,  retire  to  the  country 
to  lead  an  industrious  rural  life.  They  become  large  pro 
ducers  of  breadstuffs,  and  supply  the  city  markets  with  fat 
cattle,  sheep,  and  swine.  They  rejoice  in  their  well-tilled 
farms,  and  in  their  flocks  and  herds.  Then  again,  I  have 
noticed  that  some  of  our  very  best  small  farmers  and  gar 
deners  are  city  bred  people,  tradesmen,  or  mechanics,  who 
from  failure  of  health  or  disgust  with  the  city,  come  into 
the  country,  near  good  markets,  to  support  their  families 
from  the  soil.  They  have  thrifty  habits,  some  capital,  and 
succeed  admirably  by  making  the  most  of  a  little  land. 
Thousands  in  these  ways  are  changed  from  consumers  into 
producers,  every  year.  If  multitudes  flock  to  the  city, 
multitudes  come  back  to  the  country. 

"  And  then  there  is  a  growing  tendency  among  our  city 
people  to  scatter  themselves  in  the  neighboring  towns.  A 
large  part  of  the  men  who  do  business  in  New  York,  live 
out  from  five  to  fifty  miles  in  the  country.  Some  have 
small  homesteads,  but  they  are  all  to  some  extent  cultiva 
tors,  and  draw  a  part  of  their  support  from  the  soil.  And 
this  tendency  is  on  the  increase,  and  will  grow  with  the 
increased  facilities  for  travel  that  every  large  city  is  mak 
ing  for  itself.  This  will  not  only  help  to  unburden  the 
city,  but  will  add  to  the  production  of  the  country,  and 
help  to  make  food  cheaper." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  had  New  Yorkers  living  in 
Hookertown,  yet,"  said  Seth. 

"Stranger  things  have  happened,"  said  I. 

"  I  shall  beat  'em  on  cabbage  tho',  if  the  smartest  of 
'em  come,"  said  Seth,  with  an  extra  puff. 

"It  takes  Dutchmen  for  cabbage.  You  should  not 
brag  !  "  I  continued. 

"  Then  there  is  another  thing  in  connection  with  this 


294  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

food  question,  which  I  have  thought  of  a  good  deal.  No 
man  has  begun  to  conceive  of  the  great  change  which  our 
improved  farming  tools  are  destined  to  make  in  the  pro 
ductiveness  of  human  labor.  A  man  is  multiplied  ten 
fold.  We  should  have  had  a  famine  during  the  war,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  them,  and  food  would  have  been  a  great 
deal  dearer  than  it  now  is.  The  horse  reaper  and  mower 
mean  cheaper  grain,  and  cheaper  meats  of  every  kind,  that 
consume  hay  and  grain.  Every  year  is  adding  to  these 
improved  tools,  and  extending  the  fields  of  their  useful 
ness.  They  come  very  slowly  into  use,  but'  they  are  cer 
tainly  coining ;  and  they  can  not  fail  to  do  two  things — to 
make  farming  pay  better,  and  to  cheapen  the  price  of 
food.  A  vast  deal  of  brain  power  is  lavished  upon  these 
inventions,  and  it  will  have  its  reward  in  relieving  the 
sweat  of  the  brow. 

"  And  then  when  steam  gets  into  the  field,  as  it  must, 
upon  the  prairies  at  least,  wh.at  may  we  not  expect  in  the 
way  of  cheap  Johnnycakes  and  bacon  ?  " 

"  May  I  be  there  to  see,"  exclaimed  Seth,  rising  to  go. 
"  That  is  what  other  folks  will  do  about  it ; — but  what  do 
you  mean  to  do  about  it,  Squire  Bunker  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  "  said  I.  "  Why,  I'll  stick  to  the  old  farm,  set 
my  neighbors  a  good  example,  and  die  in  the  furrow. 
And  if  that  ain't  enough,  I'll  blow  my  trumpet  in  the 
Agriculturist,  and  set  all  the  people  from  Maine  to  Texas, 
thinking  on  the  food  question." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Seth,  as  he  went  out.  "  That  paper  is 
the  best  tool  yet  out,  to  make  bread  cheap.  It  believes 
in  brain  manure." 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKEK,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Dec.  8,  1866. 


THE    TIM    BUNKEll    PAPERS.  295 


NO.  81.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  JIM  CROW. 


MR.  EDITOE  : — It  may  seem  an  ungracious  task  to  say 
a  word  agin  this  gentleman,  when  everybody  is  writing 
up  people  of  color  in  gineral.  Folks  who,  a  year  ago, 
could  not  express  their  disgust  of  the  negro,  in  language 
strong  enough,  are  now  bawling  for  universal  suffrage. 
Such  sudden  conversions  I  never  saw  in  camp  meeting. 
But  I  have  been  in  favor  of  their  voting  this  twenty 
years ;  so  I've  no  prejudice  agin  color  to  influence  my 
opinion  on  the  crow  question.  You  said  you  wanted  all  the 
Hookertown  news,  especially  if  it  had  any  bearing  on 
farming.  Now  you  see,  we  have  had  a  big  ferment  in  the 
Farmer's  Club  up  here  on  this  question,  which  is  certainly 
as  old  as  I  am,  and  I  guess  as  old  as  the  country.  I 
thought  it  had  been  settled  several  times,  but  it  is  one  of 
them  questions  that  don't  stay  settled.  I  expect  it  is  be 
cause  we  haven't  got  upon  the  right  foundation  yet.  I 
have  always  noticed  that  any  unsound  opinion  kept  work 
ing  in  the  public  mind  like  bad  food  in  the  stomach.  It 
wont  stay  down.  Hookertown  has  spoke  and  I  rather 
think  Jim  Crow  is  settled  forever. 

You  see  these  creatures  had  been  uncommon  plenty  last 
season,  and  we  had  all  suffered  more  or  less  from  their 
depredations  in  planting  time,  and  this  had  been  put  down 
as  one  of  the  things  that  was  to  be  discussed  and  settled 
in  the  Club  this  winter.  "  Jim  Crow,  shall  he  jump  or 
no  ?  "  In  old  times  in  Connecticut  they  said  no,  and  of 
fered  a  premium  on  crows,  and  the  boys  used  to  hunt  them, 
and  bring  the  young  ones  by  the  basketful  to  get  their 
pocket  money.  Then  the  men,  who  were  science  on  birds, 
thought  the  crows  killed  a  good  many  grubs,  and  paid 
their  way  and  said  we  must  not  kill  them. 


296  THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

Deacon  Smith  was  chairman  for  the  evening  and  stated 
the  question.  He  said  "it  was  admitted  that  the  crow 
did  some  good  and  a  great  deal  of  mischief.  The  point 
was  to  find  out  whether  he  did  more  good  or  hurt. 

Jotham  Sparrowgrass  said  he  did  not  think  there  was 
any  question  at  all  about  it.  He  knew  what  he  was  about 
when  he  went  to  the  Legislature  at  Hartford,  well-nig! i 
fifty  years  ago,^nd  got  the  law  passed  to  give  a  bounty 
on  foxes  and  crows.  He  said  both  of  'em  were  the  farm 
er's  enemies,  and  he  didn't  know  which  was  the  worst. 
He  said  our  fathers  understood  their  cases,  and  killed  them 
off  as  fast  as  they  could  lay  hands  on  them.  Talk  about 
crows  destroying  bugs  !  He  has  shot  *em  many  a  time, 
and  he  always  found  more  corn  and  carrion  in  their  crops 
than  anything  else. 

Cicero  Smith  said  he  was  astonished  to  hear  such  sen 
timents  from  his  venerable  friend.  He  thought  the  crow 
had  not  been  made  in  vain.  If  it  had  not  been  for  some 
good  end  he  would  never  have  been  brought  into  exist 
ence,  and  been  made  so  hardy  and  prolific.  He  was  a 
very  long-lived  and  very  shy  bird,  so  that  with  all  the 
warfare  which  men  had  made  upon  them  they  were  as 
numerous  as  ever.  They  were  the  farmers'  friends,  pick 
ing  up  a  multitude  of  grubs  and  worms  that  preyed  upon 
his  crops,  and  acting  the  part  of  a  scavenger  in  removing 
dead  animals,  that  would  otherwise  pollute  the  atmos 
phere  ;  they  pulled  up  some  corn,  to  be  sure,  but  every 
laborer  was  worthy  of  his  hire. 

Mr.  Spooner,  our  minister,  said  he  found  some  diffi 
culty  with  Mr.  Smith's  argument.  A  good  many  crea 
tures  had  been  made  for  a  different  state  of  the  wTorld 
thtin  existed  at  present,  and  if  we  admitted  that  they  were 
originally  useful,  it  would  not  follow  that  they  could  not 
very  well  be  spared  now.  He  said  they  had  found  over 
in  Shadtown,  and  in  many  other  places,  the  remains  of  ex 
tinct  birds,  beasts  and  fishes.  These  fossils  had  hud  their 


THE    TIM    BUNKEIl    PAPERS.  297 

day,  and  died  out,  or  been  killed  off,  because  they  had  be 
come  nuisances.  He  was  inclined  to  think  that  it  was 
about  time  for  man,  who  was  lord  of  nature,  to  dispense 
with  the  services  of  the  crow;  he  could  join  the  great 
company  of  fossils  without  disturbing  the  balance  of  na 
ture.  He  admitted  he  had  been  useful  in  the  earlier  ages, 
when  animal  life  was  more  abundant,  and  the  air  was 
likely  to  be  tainted  with  the  effluvia  of  dead  animals. 
But  the  farmer  did  not  need  such  a  scavenger  now.  Dead 
animals  were  exceedingly  valuable  for  the  compost  heap, 
and  he  must  be  a  very  foolish  cultivator  who  would  allow 
them  to  waste  unburied.  Wolves  and  bears,  and  other 
wild  animals,  had  disappeared  from  the  State,  without  any 
suspicion  that  the  Almighty  had  made  a  mistake  in  their 
creation.  He  thought  that  the  crows  could  all  be  killed 
off  without  interfering  with  the  divine  purposes,  accord 
ing  to  which  man  has  the  responsibility  of  subduing  na 
ture,  and  ruling  over  it." 

Jake  Frink  said  he  was  agin  crows,  and  had  been  from 
the  start.  He  never  had  been  on  more  than  one  side  of 
this  question.  They  pulled  up  his  corn  whether  it  was 
tar'd  or  not,  and  strings  and  scare  crows  had  n't  any  more 
influence  on  'em  than  on  the  wind.  He  had  seen  'em  light 
right  on  a  stuffed  man.  He  never'd  found  but  one  thing 
to  fix  'em,  and  that  was  corn  soaked  in  New  Englnnd 
rum.  That  made  the  critters  so  drunk  you  could  knock 
'em  over  as  easy  as  lame  geese. 

Seth  Twiggs  thought  that  was  the  best  use  neighbor 
Frink  could  put  his  rum  to.  If  he  kept  it,  he  was  mighty 
afraid  that  somebody  besides  the  crows  would  become  ex 
tinct.  His  opinion  was  that  "  carrion  crow  "  expressed  the 
character  of  the  bird  as  well  as  his  habits.  He  not  only 
pulled  up  his  corn,  and  bothered  him  to  death  with  plant 
ing  over,  but  he  destroyed  the  eggs  and  young  birds  in 
his  orchard.  He  was  a  thievish,  blood-thirsty  fellow, 
ready  to  ki11  any  thing,  that  has  not  strength  enough  to 


298  THE   TIM    BUNKEK    TAPERS. 

defend  itself  against  his  attacks.  He  knew  a  good  many 
of  the  small  birds  lived  mostly  on  insects,  for  he  had 
watched  them  when  feeding  their  young.  He  thought 
the  crow  destroyed  the  grub  killers,  instead  of  the  grubs, 
and  he  was  glad  to  see  folks  getting  waked  up  to  his  true 
character.  He  should  go  strong  for  smoking  him  out. 

You  see  which  way  the  current  is  setting  up  here.  Ev 
ery  crow  thinks  his  own  young  the  whitest,  they  say ;  and 
I  am  perhaps  a  little  prejudiced  in  favor  of  Hookertown, 
but  it  strikes  me  that  there  is  about  as  much  good  com 
mon  sense  in  our  Club  as  there  is  in  any  scientific  society. 
I  have  to  admit  that  I  have  been  on  both  sides  of  this 
question,  but  have  found  hard  bottom  at  last.  Our  fathers 
were  right  in  killing  crows.  The  birds  belong  to  the  fos 
sil  age.  There  is  no  music  in  his  caw.  He  prefers  a  dead 
carcass  to  a  living  one,  and  will  devour  a  half  pound  of 
putrid  flesh  a  day.  We  can  make  a  better  use  of  the  flesh 
than  to  bestow  it  on  this  sneaking  thief.  He  destroys  our 
song  birds  and  worm  eaters  in  the  nest.  He  is  the  pest 
of  our  corn  fields  and  the  scourge  of  our  orchards,  where 
the  farmer's  true  friends  build  their  nests.  A  strong  pe 
tition  is  going  up  to  the  Legislature  from  Hookertown 
this  spring  for  a  big  bounty  on  crows. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

HooJcertown,  March  1,  1867. 


NO.  82.— TIM  BUNKER  ON  THE   EIGHT  HOUR 
LAW. 

BIG   FERMENT   IN   HOOKERTOWN. 

MR.  EDITOR: — We  have  been  having  considerable  do 
ings  up  here  lately,  and  as  you  wanted  me  to  keep  you 
posted  on  Connecticut  news  in  general,  and  Hookertown 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  299 

in  particular,  I  send  you  some  notes  I  took  on  the  Eight 
Hour  Convention.  It  was  got  up  by  Cicero  Smith,  and  a 
few  of  the  fellows  that  work  with  him,  when  they  do  any 
thing,  which  is  not  often. 

Big  posters  were  stuck  up  on  all  the  sign  posts  in  town, 
calling  upon  mechanics  and  working  people  in  general,  to 
meet  in  the  town  hall,  and  assert  their  rights,  just  as  if 
somebody  had  been  trying  to  take  away  their  rights. 
There  was  a  full  house.  Shadtown  was  well  represented 
by  the  fishermen,  and  the  White  Oaks  turned  out  strong. 
Kier  Frink  and  the  coal  men  came  down  in  their  carts, 
and  Hookertown  street  has  not  seen  such  a  collection  of 
broken  down  wagons,  and  gaunt,  raw-boned  horses,  in 
many  a  day.  It  reminded  one  of  the  early  days  of  the 
war,  when  they  were  holding  big  meetings  to  drum  up  re 
cruits. 

Judge  Loring  was  appointed  chairman,  and  Cicero 
Smith  introduced  a  long  string  of  resolutions,  recommend 
ing  eight  hours  as  a  legal  day's  work,  and  pledging  the 
meeting  for  no  man  that  was  not  in  favor  of  an  eight  hour 
law.  He  said  the  time  had  come  for  the  heavy  burdens 
of  labor  to  be  lifted  from  the  working  classes ;  that  they 
now  did  all  the  work,  got  poor  pay,  and  had  to  live  in 
humble  abodes,  on  scant  fare,  and  endure  all  the  ills  of 
poverty.  They  were  ground  down  by  capital  to  the  low 
est  depths,  and  had  no  time  for  the  cultivation  of  their 
minds,  and  for  social  enjoyments.  He  hoped  to  see  the 
day  when  the  men  who  did  the  work  should  have  the 
money,  and  the  fine  houses,  and  the  fast  horses,  and  enjoy 
life  like  human  beings.  He  was  in  favor  of  paying  the 
laborer  as  much  for  his  eight  hours  as  he  now  received 
for  ten,  and  if  that  was  not  enough,  he  would  go  as  far  as 
the  fartherest  in  relieving  his  wants,  and  meeting  his 
wishes.  The  only  true  foundation  for  a  State  was  to 
glorify  labor. 

Seth  Twiggs  said  he  should  like  the  latter  part  of  the 


300  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPEKS. 

gentleman's  speech  better,  if  he  would  illustrate  it  in  his 
life.  If  any  body  got  one  hour's  work  out  of  Smith,  it 
would  be  so  much  clear  gain.  "  There  is  as  many  as  two 
ways  of  glorifying  labor.  One  is  to  make  stump  speeches 
to  working  people,  and  the  other  is  to  pitch  in  and  work 
yourself."  He  thought  a  man  who  held  a  plow,  or  chop 
ped  wood  all  day,  honored  labor  enough  sight  better  than 
a  man  who  was  everlastingly  talking  about  work  and  do 
ing  nothing.  He  didn't  value  the  working  of  the  jaws 
near  so  much  as  some  other  parts  of  the  body. 

Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass  said  he  didn't  know  as  he 
understood  this  eight  hour  movement,  but  as  fur  as  he  did, 
he  didn't  think  much  of  it.  "  It  ain't  any  thing  new.  It 
was  tried  over  on  the  Island  more  than  forty  years  ago. 
There  was  a  set  of  fellows  then  trying  to  get  rid  of  work, 
and  they  come  nearer  to  saying  what  they  meant  than 
folks  did  now.  They  wanted  to  divide  up  property 
equally  all  round,  and  said  nothing  about  working  for  it. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  folks  who  got  ahead  any,  used  to  get 
up  early  in  the  morning  and  work  as  long  as  they  could 
see,  and  milk  the  cows  in  the  dark.  If  they  got  the 
chores  done  by  nine  o'clock  and  got  ready  for  bed,  they 
did  pretty  well.  They  hadn't  much  time  to  feel  abused 
and  talk  about  their  rights.  The  main  pint  was  to  get  a 
living  and  get  ahead  in  the  world.  They  may  have  car 
ried  work  a  little  too  ftir,  but  arter  all,  they  were  first- 
rate  people,  and  better  neighbors  I  never  expect  to  find  in 
this  world."  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  question  was 
whether  folks  should  work  and  thrive,  or 'try  to  get  a  liv 
ing  without  work.  For  one,  he  was  in  favour  of  work,  and 
if  he  could  find  any  thing  to  do  that  paid,  he  shouldn't  be 
particular  about  the  hours. 

George  Washington  Tucker  said  he  was  glad  there  was 
somebody  to  consider  poor  folks.  He  had  always  worked 
hard  and  had  nothing  to  show  for  it.  He  never  owned  a 
foot  of  land,  and  couldn't  expect  to  without  some  change 


THE    TIM    BUNKEK   PAPERS.  301 

of  times.  He  wanted  more  pay  and  less  work,  and  he 
thought  the  eight  hour  plan  was  the  best  one  that  had 
ever  been  tried  to  relieve  poor  folks. 

Jake  Frink  said  he  was  a  good  deal  bothered  about  the 
question.  "  Heaven  knows  I've  hard  work  enough  to  git 
along.  I've  been  trying  to  pay  for  my  farm  this  thirty 
years,  and  hain't  made  it  eout  yit.  And  I've  worked  like 
a  dog  a  good  part  of  the  time.  But  how  working  eight 
hours  instead  of  twelve  is  gwine  to  help  me,  I  can't  ex 
actly  see.  I  rather  guess  there  would  be  less  corn  in  my 
bin,  and  pork  in  my  cellar  in  the  fall,  than  there  is  now. 
I  have  to  hire  some  help  in  summer,  and  if  a  man  quits  in 
the  middle  of  the  arternoon,  and  leaves  me  to  git  up  the 
hay  and  grain,  I  don't  see  how  I'm  gwine  to  be  benefited. 
It  looks  considerable  like  a  humbug.  I  bo't  some  patent 
manure  onc't." 

Dea.  Little  said  he  didn't  like  the  looks  of  this  question. 
"  They  tried  the  same  thing  in  Sodom,  and  it  didn't  work 
well.  The  land  was  rich  and  produced  big  crops,  and 
they  had  nothing  to  do  but  look  on  and  see  'em  grow. 
They  come  very  near  getting  rid  o'  work,  and  took  to 
serving  the  devil  so  that  no  decent  man  could  live  among 
them."  Work  was  a  good  thing  for  sinners,  and  he  never 
expected  to  live  without  it.  He  thought  if  his  friend 
Tucker  would  pull  harder  at  the  hoe  handle,  and  not  so 
much  at  the  bottle,  he  would  be  able  to  own  land  and  a 
house,  and  to  be  quite  comfortable.  Idleness  clothed  a 
man  in  rags  in  Solomon's  time,  and  he  didn't  expect  to  see 
a  iMzy  man's  wardrobe  improve  any  in  our  day.  "  If  you 
want  any  thing,  work  for  it,  and  if  you  work  long  enough 
and  hard  enough,  you  are  pretty  sure  to  get  it." 

Rev.  Mr.  Spooner  said  he  was  troubled  about  the  moral 
aspects  of  this  movement.  It  was  nothing  new  that  men 
tried  to  escape  the  curse  of  toil.  Nothing  has  called  forth 
more  ingenuity,  but  the  curse  still  remains,  and  he  doubted 
if  man  would  ever  be  able  to  repeal  the  law,  '  Six  days 


302  THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS. 

shalt  thou  labor.'  Eight  hours  was  not  a  day's  work  un 
der  this  law,  whatever  the  civil  statute  might  make  it. 
The  average  length  of  the  day  was  about  twelve  hours. 
Men  were  able  to  work  more  than  eight  hours,  and  did 
generally,  without  injury  to  health,  and  with  much  advan 
tage  to  their  fortunes.  That  was  pretty  good  evidence 
that  they  ought  to  work  more.  Some  people,  he  supposed, 
worked  too  long  and  too  hard,  but  there  was  a  far  larger 
number  who  were  ruined  by  idleness,  and  the  vices  that 
grew  out  of  it.  He  thought  the  great  want  of  the  coun 
try  now  was  more  labor.  If  this  measure  was  made  a 
practical  thing,  it  would  take  one-fifth  from  all  the  labor 
in  the  country,  and  that  meant,  when  we  come  to  sift  it 
down,  a  deduction  of  one-fifth  from  every  man's  income. 
It  was  labor  that  gave  value  to  capital.  Men  who  had 
money  could  not  loan  it  unless  its  use  could  be  made  pro 
ductive  by  labor.  The  country  was  not  ready  for  any 
such  reduction  of  production  and  of  income.  The  agita 
tion  of  the  question  he  thought  was  mischievous,  and 
would  only  tend  to  embarrass  the  relations  of  capital  and 
labor. 

Last  Sunday,  Mr.  Spooner  preached  a  Sermon  from  St. 
Paul :  "  Neither  did  we  eat  any  man's  bread  for  nought, 
but  wrought  with  labor  and  travail,  night  and  day,  that 
we  might  not  be  chargeable  to  any  of  you,"  in  which  he 
laid  out  the  eight  hour  law  in  its  grave  clothes.  Paul  was 
a  gentleman  and  believed  in  paying  his  way,  which  the 
eight  hour  folks  don't.  If  we  are  going  to  have  any  thing 
besides  victuals  and  clothes,  we've  got  to  work  more  than 
eight  hours  for  it.  Quitting  work  the  middle  of  the  arter- 
noon  in  haying  time  wont  go  down.  Even  Jake  Frink 
can  see  the  bearing  of  that  nonsense. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Ubokertown,  June  15,  1867.    * 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPEES.  303 


NO.  83.— TIM   BUNKER   ON  BASE  BALL  CLUBS. 


"Don't  you  think  they  are  running  on't  into  the 
ground  ?"  asked  Seth  Twiggs,  as  he  stopped  at  my  garden 
fence,  when  I  was  gathering  squashes  this  morning.  "  I 
du  declare  there'll  be  a  slim  chance  to  get  anybody  to 
work,  if  things  keeps  on  in  this  way.  We  shall  be  as  bad 
off  as  they  are  among  the  Indians,  where  the  women  do 
all  the  drudgery,  and  the  men  play  all  the  time  they  ain't 
fightin'.  I  hired  Kier  Frink  and  another  White  Oaker  to 
come  down  and  help  me  husk,  and  they  had  to  leave  right 
away  arter  dinner  to  go  to  a  base  ball  match.  They  said 
they  wouldn't  stop  for  double  wages,  for  they  could  make 
more  money  on  the  ball  ground  betting.  They  knew 
which  side  was  gwine  to  win.  Pretty  state  of  things !" 
Seth  thought  the  case  was  so  clear  that  he  didn't  wait  for 
an  answer,  but  walked  off  in  his  usual  cloud  of  smoke. 
This  evening,  Mrs.  Bunker  took  up  the  Hookertown 
Gazette,  and  read,  "  Shadtown  victorious !  the  White 
Oaks  nowhere !  !  The  score  stood  27  to  9.  Great  inter 
est  has  been  taken  in  this  match,  from  the  well-known  fact 
that  both  parties  had  been  training  for  it  for  a  month 
past,  and  large  sums  had  been  staked  upon  the  result.  It 
is  said  that  the  White  Oakers  practiced  by  moonlight 
while  they  were  burning  their  coal  pits,  and  the  picked 
nine  of  the  Shadtown  Club  have  made  a  business  of  play 
ing  ball  six  days  in  a  week  for  the  last  month.  Of  course, 
they  bore  off  the  honors." 

"  Honors !"  exclaimed  Sally,  lifting  her  gold-bowed 
spectacles  to  the  top  of  her  forehead,  and  looking  over  to 
me.  "  When  we  were  young,  Timothy,  it  used  to  be  an 
honor  for  a  young  man  to  lay  a  straight  furrow,  or  to 
mow  a  wide  swath.  But  now  they've  beat  their  plow- 


301  THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 

shares  into  ball  clubs,  and  the  loafers  that  can  play  ball 
best  carry  off  the  honors.  It  seems  to  me,  Timothy,  that 
we  are  getting  considerable  ahead  of  the  days  of  proph 
ecy.  The  ploughshares  and  pruning  hooks  is  the  Bible 
idea  of  a  perfect  state  of  society.  When  grown  up  men 
exchange  plowed  fields  and  orchards  for  the  ball  ground, 
and  make  a  bat  stick  their  coat  of  arms,  I  think  they  are 
progressing  the  wrong  way." 

This  set  me  to  thinking  about  this  base  ball  business. 
For  it  has  ceased  to  be  a  mere  amusement,  and,  with  some 
people,  has  got  to  be  as  much  of  a  business  as  catching 
fish  or  making  brooms.  I  believe  in  the  division  of  labor 
and  in  new  kinds  of  business,  but  it  is  a  question  whether 
this  is  going  to  add  anything  to  the  common  wealth  or 
happiness.  I  believe  in  athletic  sports  and  games  of  skill, 
and  have  no  doubt  that  there  is  a  place  for  them  in  every 
well-regulated  society.  Base  ball,  as  we  used  to  play  it 
when  I  was  a  boy  at  school,  was  a  very  healthful  recrea 
tion.  It  was  a  change  from  sedentary  habits  that  the 
boys  needed.  I  should  think  it  might  be  a  good  thing 
for  college  boys  and  clerks  in  the  city.  But  what  do  peo 
ple  want  of  it  whose  lives  are  already  full  of  labor?  It 
can  only  add  to  their  weariness,  and  detract  from  the  in 
terest  and  pleasure  that  every  man  should  take  in  his  daily 
toil.  After  a  man  has  spent  three  or  four  hours  in  a  game, 
he  is  pretty  well  used  up  for  the  day,  and  is  in  rather  poor 
trim  for  work  next  morning.  Base  ball,  as  it  is  played 
now,  is  getting  to  be  a  great  nuisance. 

It  seriously  interferes  with  the  business  of  life.  Seth 
Twiggs'  case  is  just  what  has  happened  to  me  a  dozen 
times  this  summer,  and  is  happening  all  over  the  country. 
When  I  get  a  gang  of  men  into  the  hay  field,  and  have  the 
hay  all  ready  to  go  into  the  barn,  I  do  not  want  to  have 
half  of  them  quit  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  for  a 
ball  match.  It  breaks  up  all  my  plans  for  the  day,  and 
necessarily  leaves  a  part  of  my  hay  to  stand  out  over 


THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS.  305 

night.  Over  in  Shadtown,  they  build  ships,  and  when  a 
man  gets  a  contract  to  drive  his  ship  through  in  a  given 
time,  it's  a  great  vexation  to  have  a  part  of  his  force  ab 
sent  two  or  three  days  in  a  week,  to  attend  a  ball  match. 
Many  kinds  of  mechanical  labor  are  done  by  contract,  and 
it  subjects  a  contractor  to  very  serious  loss  if  he  cannot 
depend  upon  his  laborers. 

It  is  a  great  waste  of  time  and  money,  and  few  men  can 
afford  it.  Most  laboring  men  need  the  avails  of  their  six 
days'  work  for  the  support  of  their  families  and  for  the  ac 
cumulation  of  capital  enough  to  carry  on  business  for 
themselves.  One  day  in  the  week  is  a  serious  loss  to 
them.  But  if  a  man  joins  a  base  ball  club,  the  loss  of 
time  is  only  a  small  item.  He  must  have  a  suit  expressly 
to  play  ball  in,  costing,  say  twenty-five  dollars.  Then, 
there  must  be  a  club-room,  nicely  fitted  up,  where  the 
members  meet  for  business,  and  on  state  occasions,  when 
they  receive  guests  from  abroad.  Then  they  must  have 
their  entertainments — which  means  sprees.  Then  they 
must,  of  course,  accept  all  invitations  to  attend  matches, 
no  matter  at  how  great  a  distance.  Come  to  foot  up  the 
initiation  fees,  taxes,  traveling  expenses,  sprees,  and  lost 
time,  a  young  man  finds  himself  three  or  four  hundred 
dollars  out  of  pocket  at  the  close  of  the  year.  This  may 
be  all  very  agreeable  pastime,  but  how  few  can  afford  it, 
even  in  the  city  !  And  if  they  could,  there  are  still  more 
serious  objections  to  it. 

It  leads  very  naturally  to  bad  company.  I  know  the 
young  men  that  make  up  the  ball  clubs  of  Hooker- 
town,  Shadtown,  and  the  White  Oaks,  and  I  have  seen 
their  guests.  They  are  not  such  men  as  I  should  want  my 
John  to  associate  with.  Some  of  them  are  what  they  call 
gentlemen's  sons,  with  plenty  of  money  and  no  business, 
which  is  very  b;id.  Others  have  business,  and  neglect  it 
to  play  ball,  which  is  still  worse.  Some  are  average  farm 
ers  and  mechanics,  rather  green  at  the  play,  not  yet  spoiled, 


306  THE    TIM    BUNKER    PAPERS. 

but  in  a  fair  way  to  be.  Others  are  confirmed  loafers, 
rather  seedy,  and  far  on  the  downhill  road.  They  fire 
vulgar  and  profane ;  but  pitch,  bat,  and  catch  splendidly, 
for  the  game  is  their  only  business.  It  can't  do  a  young 
man  much  good  to  be  brought  in  contact  with  such  char 
acters.  The  manners  and  morals  of  the  ball  ground  are 
much  more  likely  to  mar  than  to  mend  him.  The  ten 
dency  of  the  game,  as  now  managed,  is  towards  idleness, 
gambling,  and  dissipation.  It  makes  good  ball  players, 
but  bad  farmers  and  mechanics,  bad  husbands  and  fathers. 
I  am  not  ready  to  have  the  plow  beams  whittled  into  ball 
clubs  just  yet. 

Then  it  is  rather  a  low  aim  in  life.  There  is  something 
noble  in  making  a  first-rate  farmer.  That  means  cheaper 
bread  and  meat  for  the  nation.  To  be  a  good  mechanic  is 
praiseworthy.  It  means  better  homes  for  the  people,  and 
better  tools  to  do  their  work.  But  to  be  a  first-rate  ball 
player,  or  to  be  one  of  a  champion  nine — what  does  it 
amount  to  ?  If  Shadtown  beats  the  White  Oakers  all  hol 
low,  who  is  the  better  for  it  ?  General  Trowbridge  came 
through  Hookertown  last  week  in  his  splendid  turn-out, 
and  when  opposite  the  widow  Taft's,  a  little  noisy  cur 
came  out,  and  barked  at  his  carriage,  as  if  he  thought  he 
could  stop  it.  He  succeeded,  and  the  General  jumped  out, 
and  walloped  the  cur  soundly,  and  sent  him  yelling 
through  the  gate.  This  brought  the  widow  to  the  door  in 
a  somewhat  excited  state :  "  Wall,  Gineral,  that's  a  big 
victory  for  you!  You've  whippt  a  one-eyed  cur."  It 
strikes  me  that  the  base  ball  victories  are  about  on  a  par 
with  the  General's.  Shadtown  is  triumphant,  but  the 
White  Oakers  still  live. 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ. 

Hookertown,  Oct.  25,  1867. 


THE   TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS.  307 

NO.  84.— TIM   BUNKER    ON   REAL  ESTATE  IN 
THE  WHITE  OAKS  AND  HOOKERTOWN. 


"  'Taint  worth  so  much  by  a  hundred  dollars  as  'twas 
eight  years  ago,  when  you  married  the  widder,"  said 
Uncle  Jotham  Sparrowgrass  to  Kier  Frink,  as  he  stop. 
ped  his  horse  to  blow  on  Hookertown  street  yesterday. 

"  That's  so,"  said  Kier,  sticking  his  old  boot  into  the 
nigh  wheel  of  his  coal  cart,  for  a  rest.  "  But  what's  a 
poor  feller  tu  du,  when  property  is  all  the  while  fallin', 
and  money's  gettin'  more  skase  ?  Ye  see,  when  I  fust 
went  into  the  White  Oaks  to  live,  coalin'  was  a  good  biz- 
ness,  and  a  feller  had  a  chance  to  make  suthin'  extra  on 
swappin'  horses  and  pitchin'  quates.  But  neow  every 
body  is  so  poor  they  can't  pay  the  boot  in  a  trade,  or  the 
stakes,  when  they  git  beat  in  quates.  Tell  ye  what  'tis, 
Uncle  Jotham,  there  ain't  coppers  enuff  in  the  White  Oaks 
on  ordinary  okashuns  to  buy  a  decent  glass  of  likker.  I'm 
gwine  to  sell  eout  airly,  and  come  on  to  the  street  to  live, 
and  so  keep  from  comin'  onto  the  town." 

u  Mighty  slim  chance  for  ye  here,"  said  Seth  Twiggs, 
hauling  out  a  tinfoil  package  from  his  pocket,  and  thrust 
ing  in  his  pipe  and  forefinger  at  the  top.  "  Ye  see,  the 
widder's  eighty  acres  wouldn't  buy  five  here,  throwin'  in 
the  widder,  young  ones,  and  all.  Property's  riz  here  worse 
than  emptins,  the  last  ten  years." 

"  Wai,  I  guess  the  old  man  wont  hold  on  furever,"  said 
Kier,  looking  up  the  hill,  where  Jake  Frink  still  leads  a 
slipshod  life. 

"  It's  poor  bizness  waitin'  for  dead  men's  shoes,"  said 
Uncle  Jotham.  "  Better  run  that .  coal  cart  oftener,  and 
swop  hosses  less.  Pitchin'  quates  and  takin'  the  stakes  in 
likker  don't  pay  in  the  long  run.  Land  ain't  worth  much 
in  the  White  Oaks  or  anywhere  else,  unless  you  work  it. 


308  THE    TIM    BUNKKli    PAPERS. 

They  work  the  land   down  here  and  pretty  much  every 
thing  else.  Any  thing,  or  anybody,  gets  lick'd  that  lies  idle." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Kier,  "  I  remember  them  lickin's.  That's 
what  started  me  off  to  the  widder's,  where  things  went  easy." 

"  And  folks  round  here  take  the  Agriculturist"  chimed 
in  Seth  Twiggs,  whose  pipe  by  this  time  was  in  full  blast. 
44  More'n  forty  copies  come  to  the  Hookertown  post-office, 
and  'taint  more'n  twelve  years  ago  there  wa'n't  but  three, 
and  I  was  the  fourth  man  that  took  it,  and  I  shouldn't 
'ave  done  it  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  woman.  Ye  see,  she 
offer'd  to  pay  for  it  if  I  couldn't.  She  laff'd  consumedly 
when  I  set  up  readin'  on't  the  fust  night  it  cum  till  smack 
twelve  o'clock." 

"  A  pretty  state  of  things  we'll  have  here  in  Hooker- 
town  shortly !"  exclaimed  George  Washington  Tucker, 
who  had  now  joined  the  party.  "  What  with  your  Agri 
culturists,  and  old  Bunker's  experiments,  and  everybody 
aping  him,  and  snappin'  up  every  bit  of  land  that  comes 
into  market,  there  wont  be  any  chance  for  a  poor  feller  to 
live  in  town.  Rents  have  more  than  doubled  in  five  years." 

44  Doubled !"  exclaimed  Benjamin  Franklin  Jones. 
44  I've  got  to  pay  a  hundred  dollars  for  my  place  this  year, 
and  ten  years  ago  I  got  it  for  twenty-five.  Some  say  it's 
the  war,  and  some  say  it's  short  crops.  But  that's  all 
nonsense.  Tim  Bunker  and  the  paper  is  at  the  bottom  of 
the  whole  of  it.  You  see,  when  that  salt  mash  was  re 
claimed,  and  the  bottom  knocked  out  of  that  horse-pond 
at  the  foot  of  Jake  Frink's  hill,  everybody  took  to  drainin' 
as  if  their  everlasting  fortune  was  gwine  to  be  made  right 
off.  There  aint  a  swamp  anywhere  within  five  mile  of 
Hookertown  neow,  but  what  is  as  dry  as  a  bone,  and 
kivered  with  the  tallest  kind  of  herd's  grass  or  corn. 
Sich  a  hankerin'  arter  land  I  never  expected  to  see.  Folks 
aint  no  plentier  than  they  used  to  be,  but  land  is  a  deal 
skaser,  and  grovvin'  more  so.  There's  no  kind  of  a  decent 
chance  for  poor  folks  to  live." 


THE   TIM   BUNKER   PAPERS.  309 

This  talk  of  my  neighbors  shows  the  drift  of  public 
opinion  on  the  real  estate  question.  In  some  communities 
farming  lands  have  risen  and  quadrupled  in  value  within 
the  last  twenty  years.  In  others,  they  are  worth  no  more 
than  they  were  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  hardly  so  much. 
Jones  has  got  hold  of  the  philosophy  of  it,  though  he  is 
not  much  of  a  philosopher,  where  his  own  affairs  are  con 
cerned.  In  the  White  Oaks,  and  places  of  that  kind,  land 
is  cheap  because  cheap  people  own  it,  who  think  a  good 
deal  more  of  shooting-matches,  horse-races,  and  poor  whis 
key,  than  they  do  of  farming.  As  Kier  Frink  says,  "  there 
aint  a  man  of  'em  but  would  sell  his  soul  for  a  chaw  of 
tabaker."  Kier  is  a  little  disgusted  just  now,  and  perhaps 
the  statement  is  a  little  harsh.  But  it  stands  to  reason 
that  the  land  isn't  worth  much  unless  you  work  it,  and  get 
something  out  of  it.  If  it  bears  nothing  but  wood,  cut  off 
for  coal  once  in  thirty  years,  everybody  presumes  that  is 
all  it  is  good  for.  Nobody  that  has  capital  wants  horse 
jockeys,  gamblers,  and  loafers,  for  neighbors,  and  so  land 
is  cheap  in  the  White  Oaks.  Land  is  worth  any  sum  you 
can  make  it  pay  the  interest  on,  and  take  care  of  itself, 
and  it  isn't  worth  a  cent  more.  Some  is  dear  at  ten  dol 
lars  an  acre,  and  other  is  cheap  at  $400  for  farming  pur 
poses.  And  it  does  not  depend  altogether  on  its  original 
character.  Poor  land  can  be  made  productive  by  right 
treatment,  and  pny  its  way  as  well  as  that  which  is  good. 
That  horse-pond  lot  was  poor  property  for  Jake  Frink  at 
twenty  dollars  an  acre.  He  did  not  get  his  interest  from 
it  at  that  price.  It  certainly  is  worth  three  hundred  to 
me,  aside  from  the  abatement  of  a  nuisance,  which  it  al 
ways  was,  until  it  was  drained.  A  variety  of  causes  have 
made  land  dearer  about  Hookertown.  There  are  more 
people  and  of  course  more  purchasers  of  homes.  The 
place  has  felt  the  effect  of  the  war,  and  of  a  depreciated 
currency,  which  makes  almost  every  thing  dearer.  But 
this  cause  has  affected  the  price  of  land  less  than  most 


310  THE    TIM    BUXKER    PAPERS. 

other  property.  Improved  husbandry  has  more  to  do 
with  it  than  anything  else,  and  in  this  matter  agricultural 
societies,  papers,  and  books,  have  had  their  influence.  A 
good  farmer  put  down  in  any  community,  raises  the  price 
of  land  all  around  him.  If  he  gets  eighty  bushels  of  corn 
to  the  acre,  and  makes  it  worth  three  hundred  dollars,  his 
neighbors  will  not  long  be  content  with  twenty-five.  Big 
crops  raise  the  reputation  of  the  land.  They  tell  every 
year  upon  the  purse  of  the  owner,  and  when  he  wants  to 
add  to  his  acres,  and  comes  into  the  market  to  buy  adjoin 
ing  land,  he  cannot  buy  at  the  old  prices.  He  has  been 
all  the  while  working  against  himself  as  a  purchaser,  and 
raising  the  price  of  his  neighbors'  farms.  Just  beyond 
Shadtown  there  is  a  big  plain,  where  any  quantity  ofland 
could  have  been  bought  twenty  years  ago,  for  fifteen  to 
twenty  dollars  per  acre.  It  was  difficult  for  farmers  to 
get  rid  of  it,  even  at  these  prices.  It  is  now  worth  an 
hundred  dollars  an  acre.  A  fish  oil  factory  in  the  neigh 
borhood  made  cheap  manures,  and  started  a  better  style 
of  farming.  Here  in  Hookertown,  we  have  not  only 
cheap  fertilizers,  but  a  constantly  increasing  class  of  read 
ing  and  thinking  farmers,  who  are  all  the  while  putting 
more  brains  into  the  soil,  which  starts  crops  faster  than 
bony  fish.  The  Farmers'  Club  is  active,  and  Deacon 
Smith  and  Mr.  Spooner  keep  talking,  and  Seth  Twiggs 
smokes  out  a  good  many  errors  in  the  course  of  the  year. 
The  draining  and  the  manure,  and  the  new  tools  and 
seeds,  tell  their  own  story,  and,  as  Jones  says,  "  every 
body  has  a  hankering  arter  land."  Farms,  like  putty,  has 
riz.  The  Agriculturist  subscription  list  has  riz  also,  from 
one  to  forty,  and  real  estate  agents,  if  they  "were  fair, 
would  vote  it  a  medal.  Hoping  they  will  do  the  clean 
thing,  I  am, 

Yours  to  command, 

TIMOTHY  BUNKER,  ESQ., 
HooJcertown,  June  15th,  1868. 


INDEX. 


Aftermath — Feeding 174 

Animals—  Immortality  of 188 

Apology  for  Tim  Bunkar 83 

Appointments  for  Office,   how   se 
cured 251 

Aristocracy— Mrs.  Bunker's  Views 

of 222 

Art,  creative  in  Children 101 

Bad  Water  in  Wells 152 

"         "a  Source  of  Disease 155 

Baked  Beans— An  Index  of  Sunday. 105 

Base  Bull  Clubs 303 

"       "         "    Waste  of  Time  and 

Money 305 

"       "         "    lead  to  bad  compa'y.305 

'*       "         "     Glory  of 306 

Bean  Hill 105 

Begin  Small 81 

Betting  at  Races 29 

Birds— Killing 15 

"      Farmer's  Friends 17 

Bird  Law 16 

Black  Art— A  Case  of 103 

Black  Leg 193 

Blossom  of  Creation 96 

Bobolinks 16 

Book  Fanning  in  Hookertown 37 

Boys,  How  to  Start  them 125 

Brains,  as  a  Manure 59 

"       in  Farming 73 

"      to  do  several  Things  at  once.  73 
"       The  want  of  them  the  Secret 

of  Bad  Farming 150 

Bread  Maker— A  Connecticut . .  26 

Bread— Premium 26 

Breastworks 163 

Bridge-making 119 

Brown  Paper — A  Gloss  on 97 

Buckwheat— Good  Green  Crop 124 

Bunker's— Sally,  Wedding 51 

Buying  a  Farm 170 

Capital— Need  of,  in  Farming 149 

Carrots— Big 25 

"        A  Big  Crop  of 59 

"        Their  Value 197 

"        A  Horse  preaching 107 

Cattle  Disease 156 

Central  Park,  described 135 

Cheap  Land-  Cause  of 309 

Chinese  Potato 32 

Cipher,  in  the  Person 149 

Clover— How  to  Cure 270 

Color — Best,  for  Farm  Houses 180 

Convention— Horse  Pond 147 

Competence — A  Rural 117 

Country  Cooking  and  The  Tribune.  55 
Cottages  for  Laborers 237 

311 


Cotton  Fever 280 

k'       Growing,  a  good  Business . .  286 

"       Profits  of. 288 

"       Plantation 90 

"       Seed  Cake 144 

Cows  should  be  well  fed  in  winter.  .159 

Cows— How  to  make  them  Pay 55 

Cow-doctor 192 

Crows,  injurious 296 

"      Remedy  for 297 

"      destroy  other  Birds 298 

Cruelty  to  Brutes  an  Oft'ence 191 

•"      "        " 193 

Deacon  Little 101 

Dead  Animals  for  Manure 184 

Debt,  to  be  avoided 172 

Dinner  Party 98 

Domesticities  at  Tim  Bunker's. ...  48 
Dogs,  the  great  Hindrance  to  Sheep 

Raising 228 

Dogs — Legislation  needed  against.  .888 
An  Index  of  Civilization. . .  .229 
"      Owners  should  be  held  Re 
sponsible  230 

Draining  a  Horse  Pond 44 

"          Swamp 63 

Dress — Essay  on 109 

u      on  the  Farm 225 

Dwarf  Pears 210 

Dwarfing  Fruit  Trees 210 

Early  Training — Importance  of 126 

Economy  in  Public  Matters 253 

Economy — A  Stroke  of 7 

"         in    taking     Agricultural 

Papers 8 

Editing  a  Paper 204 

Eight-hour  Law,  a  Humbug 298 

"      Convention  on...  301 

Emigration  to  the  South 280 

"          Influence  of  the  War  on.281 

Extravagance  upon  the  Farm 80 

217 

in  Cities 218 

of  a  returned  Soldier.219 

in  Church 220 

"  defined 225 

Fairs— Agricultural  Benefits  of. 24 

"      County 84 

"     and  Politics b5 

"  "     Annual  Meetings  of. .  87 

Farm,  its  Chief  End 93 

Farms,  of  Bad  Repute 173 

,  Farm  Roads — Economy  of  good. ...  56 

!  Farmer's  Club 30 

k-    147 

'  Farmers — Poor  ••• 43 

'<  Farming  and  the  Clergy 71 


31: 


THE    TIM   BUNKEIl   PAPERS. 


Farming — How  to  make  it  Profita- 

able 148 

Farmer  above  his  Business 184 

Farmers — What  they  can  Afford  to 

do 205 

Fashionable  Bringing  up 96 

Fish — Jotham  Sparrowgrass'  Views 

of .... 21 

Fish  Oil,  in  the  Wrong  place 144 

Fish,  Poisoning  the  Land 20 

Flowers— Stealing 198 

Meanness  of 199 

"        What  makes  them  valuable. 200 

"        as  Keepsakes  201 

Food  Question 289 

"     rising  in  price  292 

"     How  to  make  Cheap 294 

Fortune — How  to  make  it 127 

Frost— Influence    of,   on     Drained 

Land 129 

Fruit,  glorifies  the  Gardener 212 

k>     an  acceptable  Present 212 

Fruit— Stealing 198 

Good  Living  on  the  Farm 225 

Grandchildren,  a  Comfort 223 

Grandmother  absent  minded 108 

Grandson 105 

Grapes— Trellis  for, 271 

Great  Crops  in  time  of  War 164 

Green  Wood— Evils  of. 235 

"          "        Something  worse 238 

Green  Crops — When  to  turn  in 125 

"         "         turned  under 123 

Guano  in  the  Hill 18 

"     Use  of. 123 

Hats  should  be  Paid  for 113 

Hay— How  to  make  good . .  210 

Heifers,  how  to  Spoil  them 93 

Herbarium — A  new  kind  of. 16 

Homespun— Age  of. .233 

Horn-Ail 191 

Kecipe  for 194 

Horses— Family 186 

u     Influence  upon  Chil 
dren 189 

"     Mourning  for 190 

Horse  Racing  by  Women 75 

"'         "        at  Fairs  —  Mischiev 
ous  Effects  of 29 

"          "        —How  it  affects  the 

Fairs 78 

Hospitals  in  Washington 254 

Housekeeping— Old  Style 230 

Housekeeper— The  better  for  going 

to  School 51 

Housewife— A  model 98 

Humbug — A  princely 32 

Husking  Bee 214 

Song 214 

Hybridizing  of  Plants 161 

Ignorance — Cost  of 18 

Improved   Husbandry  makes    dear 

Land 310 

Industry— Need  of 126 

Invisible  Toll  Gates 139 

Irrigation 139 

Jacob  Frink  as  a  Correspondent. . .     83 
Jake  Frink  Sold ...  131 


Jotham  Sparrowgrass 138 

Kitchen  Education  valuable 99 

Large  Crops  on  drained  land 175 

Large  Grass,  nutritious 209 

Letter  writing— Apology  for 203 

Lighthouse  wanted 249 

Lightning  Rods 166 

' '    Argument  for 167 

"    a  cheap    Insurance 

Company 169 

"    Safeguard     against 

Fear 169 

Linseed  Cake. 144 

"          "    Influence  on  Cattle....  145 

Long  Names — Disadvantage  of. Ill 

Man,  not  a  mere  working  animal..  .238 
Manhood,  the  most  precious  product 

of  the  Farm 2H8 

Manhood  on  the  Farm 217 

Manure — A  new 58 

Manure  Humbugs 132 

Milk  and  Butter,  how  to  get  them..  159 
Ministers,  how  to  benefit  their  peo 
ple 74 

Ministers  —  How  to  live  on  small 

Salaries 74 

Minister's  Wife 51 

Minister's  Wife— Training  for 72 

"    Her  Outfit 82 

Mixing  of  Soils 65 

Mixing  Potatoes  and  Politics 34 

Money,  how  to  know  its  worth 126 

"        A  wrong  to  Society  not  to 

know  its  value 127 

Moss  Bunkers 19 

Muck— Value  of 182 

"      Indispensable  on  old  Land. .  185 

Muskrats— How  to  get  rid  of 65 

Naming  Babies 222 

Naturalist — A  zealous 16 

Nature — Imitation  of 138 

Neighbors  of  Squire  Bunker 103 

New  Ideas  on  the  Farm,  how  they 

spread 131 

Oil  Meal— Value  for  Feeding 143 

Oil  Stocks 205 

"        "      Advertised 267 

Old  age  of  the  Farmer 222 

Orchards  pay  well 213 

Orchard  on  a  gravel  bed 272 

Ornamental  Planting 137 

Ornamental  Trees 9 

"    add  to  the  value 

of  the  Homestead 10 

Outfit  for  a  Bride  in  1784 231 

Painting  Buildings 178 

"        Season 'for 181 

Cost  of 179 

Parasols  in  Church Ill 

Parish  Prosperity— Secret  of 108 

Parsonage — Shadtown 104 

"         glebes  in  the  olden  time..  107 

Pastor— A  Puritan 31 

Pasturing  Cattle  in  the  Road 40 

Patent  Manures,  how  Sold 132 

I  Pay  as  you  go 81 

j  Personalities— Complaint  against..  103 
1  Pew— Tiui  Bunker's 147 


INDEX. 


313 


Pickles— Cucumbers 255 

Pickle  Factories  &-,  7 

Pickles— How  to  raise 258 

"        M  anure  tor 258 

"        when  to  plant 258 

"        how  to  get  Seed 259 

"        How  to  keep  Bugs  off 261 

"        Market  for 201 

"        Labor  needed  for  an  Acre. .'202 

"        Price  of 263 

"        a  good  Crop  for  the  Soil . . .  203 

Pickle  Fever 271 

Pickles— Profit  of  raising 273 

l*        Manure  for 275 

How  much  Salt  for 278 

Picture  Gallery— Farmer's 231 

Plcuro-pneumonia 156 

Plow-share,  a  war-like  weapon 165 

Political  Life— Glance  at 250 

Qualifications  for... 251 

Prejudice— Rustic 102 

Premiums  at  Fairs — How  Lost  and 

Won 60 

Pride,  its  Cost 202 

Privy  Vaults  near  Wells 154 

Progress  in  Agriculture 38 

Prosecution  for  Libel 79 

Railroads— Safe  traveling  on 53 

"        help  the  Markets 54 

Raising  Boys 93 

Real    Estate  in  the  Farming  Dis 
tricts 307 

Real  Estate— Rise  of. 309 

Red  Ears 213 

Reporter  in  Hookertown 42 

Road—  Pasturing    Cattle    in,    bad 

morals 40 

Rocks — Use  of,  in  Landscape  Gar 
dening 138 

Rocky  Fields,  pays  to  clear 54 

Rohan  Potato  Fever 13 

Roots — Commentary  on 195 

"    good  for  Feed 195 

"    —Advantage  of. 197 

Running  astern,  how  it  is  done 215 

Rye,  turned  under .124 

Salt  Marsh  reclaimed 100 

Saw,  an  old  one 35 

Sanitary  Commission 251 

Savings'  Banks 127 

Self  Conceit,  how  to  cure  it 91 

Settlement  for  a  Minister 74 

Settled — Importance  of  beim? 11 

Seeds — Economy  of  buying  good. . .  36 

Seed— Value  of  good 160 

"      How  to  get  them 162 

Sermons  and  Cabbage  73 

Shade  Trees— Argument  for 181 

Shadtown,  origin  of  name 106 

Sheep  killing  Dogs 227 

Sheep  Traps 226 

Shelter— Value  of 158 

Skunk  Cabbage  in  a  Flower-garden. 137 

Sink  Drains  near  Wells 153 

Sleek  Cattle— How  to  secure 194 

Slink  Disease  156 

"     Fever 193 

Slocum— Rev.  Josiah 33 

14 


Smooth  Meadows — Advantage  of. ..120 

Smoking,  a.-,  a  Business 278 

Soil  mast  not  be  Starved &;9 

Sorghum 239 

Syrup 240 

Sparrowgrass— Jeremiah 15 

Speculation  in  Oil 264 

Sportsman — A  Broadway 15 

Spopner— Rev.  Jacob 30 

Society,  its  Value 172 

South— Plenty  of  room  in 284 

who  should  go  there 287 

Starting  worn  out  Land 121 

Starvation  of  Animals 192 

Strawberries 8 

Mulch  for 271 

"          and  Theology 108 

Streetwash  -Value  of 141 

Stock  Gambling— Effects  of 267 

Suburban  Farmer 269 

Subsoiling— Views  of 22 

"         Remedy  for  Drought 23 

Subsoil  Plow— Effects  of. 23 

Sugar  Beets — Value  of 196 

Sugar  Mill  in  Hookertown 239 

•'    How  to  start 241 

Swamps  turning  Indian 206 

"       Drained,  what    should    be 

done  for  them 207 

Swindle— A  Vegetable 34 

Tadpoles  and  Turtles  in  trouble 65 

Tafeu 134 

Talking,  Virtue  in  it 86 

Tide  Gate 101 

Tile  in  the  Head 128 

Tile— Advantage  of 59 

Tile  Draining— Value  of 129 

Tiles— How  to  Make 66 

Tile  Factory 67 

Timothy  Bunker— A  Sketch  of 11 

"  His  Sunday  suit,...  12 
"  His  Ancestral  Farm  13 
"  His  View  of  the 

Bird  Law 14 

Tim  Bunker  in  Tall  Clover 25 

"          "       on  Horce  Racing 27 

at  Farmer's  Club 30 

on  an  old  Saw 35 

on  pasturing  Cattle  in 

the  roa-d. 40 

on  the  Weaker  Breth'n  42 
on  curing  a  Horse  Pond  44 

Domesticities  at 48 

Views  oi'Railroads,etc.  52 

on  Farm  Roads 56 

on  losing  the  Prem'ms  60 
on  anew  Enterprise..  63 

on  making  Tiles 66 

on     the     Clergy     and 

Farming 71 

on  Women  Folks  and 

Horse  Racing 75 

on  beginning  Life 79 

An  Apology  for ^3 

on  County  Fairs 84 

visit  South 88 

on  Raising  Boys 92 

Girls 95 


314 


THE    TIM    BUNKER   PAPERS. 


Tim  Bunker  on  Hay  Crop 99 

ki          "       011  the  Suadtown  Par 
sonage 104 

"          "      on  Dress 109 

"       on  saving  a  Sixpence..  118 
"          "       on  giving  Land  a  start.121 
"          "        "        "      Boys  a  start.125 
'•          "       at  the  New  York  Cen 
tral  Park 135 

"          "       on  Irrigation 139 

"          "       on    feeding    with    Oil 

Meal 143 

"          "       on  the  Fanner's  Club. .147 

"          "       on  bad  Water 152 

"          "       on  Cattle  Disease 155 

"          "       on  Seed 160 

"          "       on  Breastworks 163 

"          "       on  Lightning  Rods. . .  .166 

"          "       on  buying  a  Farm 170 

"          "       on    Topdressing    and 

Feeding  aftermath. 174 
"  "  on  painting  Buildings. 178 
"  "  on  the  value  of  Muck.. 182 

"          "       on  Family  Horses 186 

"          "       on  Horn-ail 

"         "       on   a  Commentary  on 

Roots 194 

"          st       on  stealing  Fruit  and 

Flowers 198 

'•       on  the  Cost  of  Pride.  .202 
"          "       on  Swamps  turning  In 
dian 206 

"       in  his  Garden 210 

"          "       on  running  Astern 213 

"          "       on  Extoavagance 217 

"         "      011    the   Farmer's   old 

Age 222 

"          "      on  Sheep  Traps 226 

"         "      on  old  style  Housekeep 
ing 230 

"         "      on     keeping   a     Wife 

comfortable 235 

"         "      on    starting   a    Sugar 

Mill...! 239 

"         "      against  Tobacco 243 

"          "       trip  to  Washington 247 

"         "       on    Sanitary    Commis 
sion  and  the  War.  .251 
"         "      Raid  among  the  Pickle 

Patches 255 

"         "      Striking  He 264 


Tim  Bunker,  visit  to  Titus  Oaks. . .  .268 
"          '•       on     Pickle     Fever    in 

Hookertown 273 

"       on  the  Cotton  Fever. . .  280 
"       on  the  Food  Questou.  .289 

"       on  Jim  Crow 295 

"       on  Eight-hour  Law 298 

"       on  Bane  Ball  Clubs 303 

"          "       on     Real     Estate     in 

Hookertown 307 

Titus  Oaks,  Esq  268 

Tobacco,  bad  for  brains 243 

'         bad  for  nerves 244 

nasty 244 

'         expensive 245 

'         bad  for  health 245 

*         bad  for  morals 246 

'         bad  example  to  use 246 

"         its  use  a  breach  of  mar 
riage  vows 246 

"         Man  accountable    for    its 

use 246 

Topdressing— Value  of 209 

174 

"          in  mid-summer 177 

Tree  Planting,  how'Nature  does  it.. 271 

Trip  to  Washington 248 

Turkey— How  to  dress 98 

Turnips — Value  of 196 

Twiggs — Seth,  how  he  came  to  take 

the  Agriculturist 39 

Uncle  Philip  Scranton 55 

Village  Pride 106 

Vinegar— Home-made 279 

Visiting,  benefits  of  it 91 

Waste  of  War 250 

Wedding  at  the  Whiteoaks 115 

—A  Rural 48 

Wet  Land  pays  for  Draining 46 

White  Fish— How  to  use 20 

Whiteoaks,  Society  sketched 116 

Window  Shutters— Blue,  an  Argu 
ment  for 91 

Wintering  at  the  Stack 157 

Wife— Value  of  a  good 127 

Wives  should  be  well  cared  for 236 

Wood  Laud,  a  good  Investment 224 

Work,  boys  should  learn  to  love  it.  112 

Worm  in  the  Tail 193 

Women  racing  horses . .  75 

Young  folks  wanting  in  NewEng'd.223 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


till      1   M   irtrtrt. 

ML  1  4  1969  4  3 

RE/URNED  T( 

) 

;3 

LOAN    AHC 

A    JT.        -4f\f\f\ 

MAY  Oj>  1989 

? 

AUIUU.vw    ^ 

LD  21A-40m-2,'69 
( J6057slO) 476 — A-32 


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